


What Is Freedom?

by PurpleSparklyNails



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Bickering, British English, Confusion, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Smut, F/M, Insecurity, It's said with fondness (mostly), Made stuff up about space, Mentions of Kidnap, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Planet Hopping, Slow Burn, The Client gets a name, The Crest gets called an antique, The Empire is Sexist, Unwanted marriage, Yasinda Solvan has no idea how money works in the galaxy and neither do I, mentions of non-con/rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29271204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleSparklyNails/pseuds/PurpleSparklyNails
Summary: Spoilt. Selfish. Self-absorbed.These are all words that were used to describe Yasinda Solvan, the only daughter of a powerful man during the reign of the Empire. Expected to marry a man as powerful as her father and expected to only follow orders and never to have her own opinion, she became an expert at hiding everything behind a smile, because who expects there to be anything behind a pretty smile?Survivor. Determined. Intelligent.These are the words that no one on Coruscant thought to use to describe their Golden Star, yet those things lead her to a life that she never expected, but can't ever think to regret, especially not when a tiny, green gremlin that'll eat anything burrows its way beneath her skin and into her selfish heart.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As a warning, the first few chapters are going to be introducing Yasinda and will not include Mando or the kid, but they will turn up! I hope you all enjoy the story and, please, please, please, leave a comment!
> 
> Thanks!

Outside the window, the planet glows with light. Not natural light, but with artificial light in neon that gleams far too bright. As high up as I am, it doesn’t bother me too greatly, doesn’t manage to quite reach my wide windows and large balcony, but there are lights glowing in here too. There’s a celebration, after all, a celebration for me, for my new engagement to a man that makes my stomach turn and sour, even as I paste on a smile to accept the congratulations of those that move around us and don’t squirm away from the arm that’s wrapped possessively around my waist, too tight. I try not to look at him, at this old man with his soft hands and the wrinkles deep on his face and the grey hair cut short in an attempt to hide the colour. He’s pale, paler than me and I’ve never stepped foot off of Coruscant and seen a proper sun unfiltered by barriers and buildings, which is only emphasized by the black that he wears, a silent support for the Empire that’s supposedly fallen.

Disgust clenches at my stomach, only made worse by the fizzy alcohol I drink. The Empire isn’t dead. The Empire exists in this very room, in the man my father sold me to, in my father himself. I was born into this, should support it, should be proud to be married to a former Inspector General of the Imperial Forces, but I just feel ill. I know how to hide it. My mother taught me. My mother taught me many things, including how terrible the Empire was, as she whispered stories of how the world had been before they took over, of freedom and warmth and her childhood on a planet named Alderaan. The things she couldn’t teach my older brother. She was stolen, rather than sold. My father saw her on Alderaan not long after the rise of the Separatists, saw her as she picked flowers on the side of a mountain, barefoot in the long grass, and he took her, when she’d been barely fourteen, because he thought her beautiful.

For all the things he’d been wrong about, Father had been correct in that Mother had been beautiful, with long golden hair and big blue eyes that always looked at me with love, even though I’d been a product of my father’s abuse. That abuse, in the end, killed her and, now, I’m stood with a fixed smile on my face and a false laugh spilling from my lips as my betrothed strokes his hand over my hip and his long fingers squeeze and knead at my flesh. I know I’m soft from a life of indulgence. He told Father that he liked that about me, laughed about having something to hold onto, and Father had chuckled along with him and agreed. They say such things now, them and the other officers, and more than one of them lets their hands linger on my skin and their eyes linger on my chest. Is this what they did to Mother?

“Long live the Empire,” is spoken throughout the night, growing louder the more they drink. I automatically recite it too. A lifetime taught me how to, how to smile through the bile on my tongue, how to smile when you want to scream, how to smile through all the lies. It serves me well tonight, allows me to settle into autopilot. My hands don’t shake when I discard the empty glass and collect a full one from the silent slave. Of course, we aren’t allowed to call them slaves anymore, since the new government has outlawed such things, but the Twi’lek is a slave and we all know it. She’s new, this one dark purple in colour, in comparison to the last’s bright orange colours, and her name is Kib’nafi, I think. As terrible as it sounds, there are so many that their names merge and blend together.

The night wears on, my feet aching and my smile tightly fixed in place and my cheeks throbbing from the effort, and the men have got their entertainment. Females of varying species, including Kib’nafi, grind and wriggle in their laps as the men guffaw and grope and pull at the females’ skimpy clothing. No one, not even my betrothed, who’s far too invested in watching a Rodian female squirm and fight against the numerous men holding her against the floor to remove her clothing, notice me slip away with guilt souring my tongue. I cringe when one of them cries out behind me, a plead for me to stay, or a plead for the men to stop, I don’t know, but I don’t stay to find out. I step into my bedroom and lock the sliding door, before beginning to the slow, arduous task of unravelling my long hair from its elaborate style. Tears burn at my eyes, but, again, a lifetime of training has taught me to keep them at bay as the cries grow louder and so does the laughter.

Is this what they did to my mother? All those years ago, when Father took a liking for her and decided to steal her away? He only married her because he got her pregnant with my brother. Carsvic got killed in the war against the Rebels, though, and, even then, Father spent little time on him. Mother mourned him, despite how he’d followed Father around, dismissive of Father’s complete disdain for him, and had used his fists on her more than once. For whatever reason, Father has never subjected me to the same treatment, never even slapped me, though I had witnessed him lashing out at Carsvic before my brother’s death, but I suppose I’m more valuable untouched. That’s what the men say, that they like a clean canvas, someone to break in. A shudder rolls down my spine at being treated like those poor, poor females out in the main living space of our luxury apartment.

How is that such behaviour is still acceptable with this new regime in place? How did my father, a higher ranking officer for the Empire, somehow not get arrested like many others? How did all of those men manage to avoid arrest and punishment? My father would be horrified at my thought process, would sneer and call me an idiot, and then tell me that I wouldn’t have all of my luxuries if he’d been arrested and thrown away with the rest of them. It’s true. I don’t even know what life is like off of this planet. I’ve never been anywhere. Mother told me of Alderaan and some of the slaves, when I was far younger and not as well taught, told me of their home planets, but stories and pictures are not reality. With my impending marriage to that awful man, it’s unlikely that I ever will, though he speaks of a home on Scarif.

Someone screams. Someone else laughs. I sigh, leave my blonde hair loose to my waist, change into my nightgown, and slide into my bed for a sleepless night.

* * *

The slave – this one a human girl, barely more than fifteen – is silent, eyes red-rimmed and puffy from crying, bottom lip swollen with a blood crusted cut going through it, as she carefully braids my hair and pins it into elaborate twists, the thick ropes of hair hanging in loops to my shoulders. A thick, black and silver headband sits at the forefront of my skull to keep any flyaway strands in place. At least her hands don’t shake. I watch it all in the large, obnoxious mirror that takes up most of the space against the right-hand wall of my bedroom, a disturbingly blank expression on my face. It’s strange not to have some false sentiment plastered across my features. There are no cosmetics on my face yet, showing the paleness to my flesh, the dark marks beneath my eyes from the lack of sleep, and the bitten, chapped quality to my lips. I have a habit of catching the edge of the top one beneath my teeth and biting down hard when no one’s looking. No one ever really looks at me, so it happens often. With my hair done, she moves onto my face, carefully applying the powder and liquid to hide my imperfections (the dark marks under my eyes, the mole near the back of my jaw on the left side, the slight spot forming near the crease of my nose).

By the end of it, with dark red lips and dark rimmed eyes, I look like a different person completely as I finally rise and drop the silk robe so that the girl can dress me in the two-piece outfit my betrothed had delivered to me. I despise it. I have to wear it, though, else there’ll a punishment and I dread to think what it would be. So, I let the black fabric get placed on me, a cropped shirt that stretches over my shoulders to make long sleeves, but still somehow has no back. It has a triangle shape cut beneath my breasts, revealing my midriff, while the skirt is long, sitting low on my hips, and has a long slit going up to my right thigh. I hate it all of it, but I nod and gesture for the girl to fetch my coat, which is a thick, silver, floor-length piece lined with fur.

I know better than to thank the slaves (even Mother had warned me of kindness, how it could be twisted and turned against a person), so I stride past her with an order to get my room cleaned. There are clothes all over the floor, bed still messy from this morning, and there are food wrappers and plates strewn across the surfaces. She nods, eyes on the floor, and I don’t look at her again as I adjust the heavy, glittering bracelet around my wrist and head out of the apartment to where the speeder is waiting with the driver. A look has him putting the roof on rather than leaving it off and potentially ruining the slave’s hard work. My heart thumps a little harder against my ribcage the closer we get to Uscru district. I’m not a fan of this part of the Coruscant, as most of it belongs to the criminal underworld, but I suppose I and most of my family are part of that criminal life now, what with the Empire no longer being in power. A shiver runs through me and I pull my coat tighter around me, black painted nails flashing in the neon lights we zip past. I stare at them, at these lights I’ve been staring at my whole life, and feel the familiar, curling, black hate crawling through my veins. At least that can be disguised easily enough. Sometimes, though, I wonder if the hate I feel is only the hate that my mother injected into me so she wouldn’t be alone in this pit.

The speeder comes to a stop, the bright red flashing various colours as the lights from the surrounding building change rapidly. The driver opens the top, steps out, and offers his gloved hand to me to assist me in exiting the vehicle. I accept. There’s no point in tripping and embarrassing myself through pride. I don’t thank him for it, don’t even offer him a second glance, as I make my way into the restaurant and am immediately escorted to where my betrothed sits with three other men. All three of them are vaguely familiar, though no one that I know well. Their names pop into my mind as I greet them with a well-practiced smile and sink into my seat when my betrothed gestures for me to. Of course, it’s too close to him and he immediately places a hand on my right thigh, of course sliding into that slit in the skirt.

“I must say, Yasinda, you have certainly grown into a lovely young woman,” one of the men smiles at me, slimy and sleazy. He’s Harcorn Ellar, not that high ranking before the loss of the war, but moving higher up now that there’s few left. I incline my head politely and lift my glass in acknowledgement of his compliment. “Jacoamar here is going to be kept very busy with you,” he informs me with an obvious look over my torso, lingering on my chest.

“I get first dibs, Harcorn,” my betrothed interjects, squeezing my thigh and rubbing his thumb very high up against my inner thigh.

My heart momentarily lurches into my throat, though a lifetime of training stops any of it showing on my face, at his wording. _First dibs_? Does he plan on _sharing_ me? The mere thought of him touching me leaves me nauseated, let alone the rest of them. From the way they’re now joking and jesting and discussing their various plans, Jacoamar clearly does plan on handing me out, like an object to be passed around on a whim, like a slave. I am no slave. I am the daughter of Andosca Solvan. However, he doesn’t care much about passing females around like objects, especially if my thoughts on how he treated my mother are accurate. He won’t care. He’s selling me to the highest bidder as it is. He won’t care who does what to me when I’m no longer under his care and, therefore, no longer his concern.

These men discuss me, the things they want from me, what they’ll do with my body, as though it’s disposable, as though it’s simply there for their entertainment, and doesn’t possess a mind of its own. Perhaps the act of being a vapid little doll is played too convincingly. Behind my blank smile, though, plans are slotting into place. I refuse to be an object for these people. I refuse to let them do what they wish with me. It was bad enough when it would have just been the old, soft, wrinkled man my father sold me to, but to be given to whichever man decided he wanted to experience me? To touch me? It’s disgusting. It’s utterly abhorrent and I refuse to become what they think they can craft me into. My mother didn’t feed me stories of a galaxy out there, just beyond my fingertips, for me to become a plaything of disgusting old men.

At the end of the night, my betrothed sees fit to shove his tongue down my throat and grab at my chest and thighs and buttocks. I let it happen. It’s easier than fighting for the moment. When I finally step into the apartment, my clothes are wrinkled and there are bruises blooming on my pale flesh, including my lips. No doubt the paint on my lips is smeared across my face. Jacoamar didn’t exactly have any finesse. I shudder and step into the refresher, pouring mouthwash into my mouth and holding it there with my eyes squeezed tightly closed. I spit it out into the sink, then grab the sponge to scrub myself clean with little care of how the soap and water soaks my clothes and, no doubt, stains the silk irreparably. I don’t care. Someone else will deal with it, will pick it up off the floor. I just get to unravel my long hair and crawl into bed.

I need to get off of this planet.


	2. Chapter 2

Mother taught me many things, about life off of Coruscant, how to hide anger and disgust behind a smile, how to persuade everyone that nothing is going on behind said smile. Most importantly, she taught me how to manipulate people. So, within a few weeks, I’ve managed to manipulate a good many people onto my side with a good few tears and a story littered with enough of the truth to garner sympathy, but not enough for people to realise exactly who they’re agreeing to help. A Solvan, after all, shouldn’t garner sympathy from any Rebel after what Father did in the war, for the Empire, so I’m careful not to reveal myself or the people I’m running from. I also pack my things slowly and subtly, packing for a variety of climates just to be safe, without anyone else noticing. Not much, but enough to keep me comfortable. I also pack some jewellery to sell, though I have also stashed some credits away after persuading Father I needed some for wedding supplies. He never chases me for details, so I feel fairly safe. In fact, Father rarely speaks to me at all.

It’s four days before my wedding that an opportunity finally presents itself. One of my new contacts sends word that a cargo ship is willing to escort me off, but it needs to be that day, before it’s even dark. It’ll be difficult, especially to be subtle, considering I’m expected to present myself at a certain level at all times, especially in public, but I agree. I have no other choice unless I want to be married to Jacoamar and become his property. I take the young girl whose name I still don’t know to dress me for the day. She’s new enough that she won’t question my orders, or suggest something else. Kib’nafi usually lays out what I’m needed to wear, but the new girl wouldn’t dare, not when I specify that I want trousers and a long-sleeved top, along with flat boots, rather than the heels that I’m normally put in. She hesitates for the shoes, but obeys when I impatiently gesture to the knee length, dark blue, leather boots with a slight heel.

The shirt sits close to my skin, a shimmery dark blue colour, and falls to just below my chest on the left side and to my hip on the right. The trousers are black, shiny, and close fitting with triangles of sparkles that look like the stars that go down the outer sides. With the long, flowing, black, cloak-like coat I slip on, it looks good enough, especially when the girl puts my hair into a long, slick, high ponytail that hits the middle of my back and is held in place with a wide, black, metal clasp. Practical enough to travel, but presentable enough that I won’t raise eyebrows. A delicate balance, but one I’ve managed to find. Father doesn’t even raise his eyebrows at my appearance when he gives me his usual, critical glance as I’m on my way to the door.

“I need to collect a few things for the wedding,” I inform him, tone detached and calm. He never questions anything when I speak of the wedding. “I should be back in a few hours.”

“Yasinda,” he barks just as I’m about to press the button for the door to open. I stop, but don’t turn, heart pounding fearfully against my breastbone. _He knows_. “I’m glad to see you being sensible about this whole arrangement,” he says briskly, even as his cold, blue eyes follow Kib’nafi cleaning the main room. I’ve walked in on him with her bent over a table or counter more than once. He doesn’t have any shame. He used to do it in front of Mother, not that she cared. The Twi’lek doesn’t even cry anymore. “Unlike your brother, you’ve not embarrassed me,” he continues. I turn my head in surprise and wish I hadn’t when I see him yanking Kib’nafi into his lap. “Keep it up for Jacoamar, won’t you? He’s a man of specific tastes and he’s had his eye on you for quite a number of years.”

Disgust forms in my gut at that, but I don’t let it show as I nod and try to ignore the way he shamelessly pulls Kib’nafi’s dress down to reveal her breasts. “I will endeavour to make you proud, Father,” I state tonelessly and turn back to the door. “I’ll leave you to your...entertainment.”

“Such a sensible girl,” he mocks me, laughing. “Run along and maybe I’ll be finished when you get back.”

I don’t respond. I simply walk away and push down the guilt I feel at leaving the two slaves at his mercy. They’ll be punished for my defection, far more than they usually are. If I think of it, though, I’ll never leave. The memory of my father shamelessly treating the Twi’lek like nothing more than an object, and carelessly discussing me in exactly the same way, urges me to continue onwards. I will be Kib’nafi if I stay, so I must leave. The bag has already been stashed in the speeder, to the driver’s obliviousness, and he wisely doesn’t question when I tell him there’s a change of plan and we’re to collect wedding necessities from the docking station. I’ve been careful to do a few trips every couple of weeks, so it’s not suspicious in the slightest. The only issue will be distracting him long enough for me to escape onto the cargo ship. The docking number is engraved into my brain and I’m expected.

We arrive at the docking station. My heart thrums a rapid beat against my throat, but I accept the driver’s help in exiting the speeder and look around quickly. With a convincing lie spouted from my mouth, the driver goes to a random ship to accept a delivery far from where I’ll be headed. He gets lost in the thick crowds of people easily. I wait until he’s completely out of sight before I grab my bag from the storage space and then go in the opposite direction for my cargo ship. I feel like I’m going to vomit. I feel terrified with sweaty palms and clammy skin. Hopefully the sweat isn’t making my cosmetics run, or it’ll attract more attention than I want. I don’t want people to see me right now. I need to disappear into the heavy crowd of foot traffic.

Suddenly, a hand snaps around my elbow and yanks me to the right. My eyes widen. _No_. I’ve been caught. They know. Father and Jacoamar have found out. The hand keeps pulling me along. Should I scream? Who would stop and help me? I look up and almost sob with relief when I see my contact. We never exchanged names, met only once whilst I pretended to be choosing decorations for the wedding, and we speak through messages sent via random people. I recognise him, though. A tall Chagrian with the typical, blue hued skin and horns. He doesn’t speak and neither do I as he pulls me along and then stops in front of a cargo ship.

“They’ll take you to Naboo,” he grunts. I nod, hoping it doesn’t look as shaky as it feels, as the workers scuttle around us. “After that, you work out your own way, understood, girl?”

“Yes, sir,” I answer and gratitude springs to my tongue, though it tastes heavy and strange. “Thank you,” I tell him, feeling awkward and bumbling.

He smirks slightly. “I wouldn’t thank me, sweetheart,” he says. I frown. “It’s not going to be a comfortable ride.”

“As long it gets me out of this place, I really don’t care,” I respond haughtily and turn to the ship, where another person – this one a human – impatiently gestures me forward and into a compartment in the floor.

“Keep your mouth shut,” he whispers, sounding agitated and uncomfortable. Perhaps he doesn’t smuggle people that often. “Someone will come and fetch you when we’re off planet, understand?”

I only nod and obediently climb down into the rather cramped quarters, but I gamely sit down on the grubby floor, managing not to wrinkle my nose, and jump when the door above me gets slammed shut. It engulfs the place in complete darkness. It’s then, when the thick blackness wraps itself around me, like coiling tentacles constricting around my throat, that I realise I’ve never been fully engulfed in darkness before. On Coruscant, it doesn’t matter _where_ you are or the time of day, there is _always_ a form of artificial light that will offer a respite from darkness. I don’t like it. I don’t like how completely encompassing it is. I don’t like how I can’t even see my hand in my face. I don’t like how incredibly vulnerable and insignificant I feel in this cramped, dark space.

The darkness lets my thoughts run away with themselves, rather than being carefully controlled and placed on a track that _I_ deem necessary. My chest feels strangely tight, breathing slightly shallow, breath coming in short puffs. What is _happening_ to me? I don’t panic when faced with those awful men. I don’t panic when arranging to run away and leave everything I’ve ever known behind. When faced with darkness, however, I descend into panic rife with images of Jacoamar and Father and all the Imperial men they work with emerging from the darkness to grab me and drag me back home. I can’t go back. I can’t get married. I can’t. I don’t want to. I _can’t_.

All at once, the ship rumbles and vibrates beneath me as the engine starts. My fingers clench around the strap of my leather bag, perfectly manicured nails digging into the sturdy material. My heart sits in my throat, thrumming painfully hard against my trachea. I can feel the ship rumbling as it lifts into the air. My stomach swoops towards my feet as the ship rises. It’s really happening. I’m escaping. I’m getting off of this planet, even if I am currently shrouded in darkness. Hope helps with the all-encompassing darkness, though the fear pickles at the back of my throat and leaves me feeling tense and on edge, breathing still shallow and skin clammy. My hands tremble around the strap of my bag, fingers slippery with sweat.

Still, I’m _free_.

* * *

Most of the journey is spent in that black compartment, swamped in that darkness and almost hysterical in my panic at being so consumed in it. Not that the people who owned the ship really cared. They insisted that I needed to be kept hidden, just in case they were searched, and I follow their demands obediently. It’s better to do what they say, surely. When I am released for refresher breaks and to get food, everyone looks at me sideways, as though trying to work out what I’m running from, and I realise that my outfit choices aren’t the best when I see the rough, mismatched, cheap clothes that they wear, but I don’t have anything else. So, for so long, I’m hidden in the darkness and barely keep myself together as my imagination runs wild, just waiting for the danger to come creeping from the all encompassing darkness around me.

Eventually, though, we reach Naboo. One of the human men – Coltkale – ushers me from the black compartment and I almost fall over myself in my desperation to leave. When I do escape, though, when I’m free of that place, the sun smacks into my skin and, by the Force, it takes my breath away. The sun glows orange in the sky, fat and bright and glorious. My feet stop on the exit ramp of the starship, until Coltkale, who is apparently my babysitter, grabs my elbow and drags me onwards. My head falls back, though, eyes fixed on the bright blue sky above me, the white clouds fluttering over its blank expanse. I fall in love almost immediately.

“Listen to me,” my babysitter snaps. My eyes fix on him, his ragged face and scowling expression. “We got told you had to be off of that planet, but, if someone’s determined, they’ll find you easily if you sit around here,” he says sharply, muddy eyes narrowing on me. “That means you need to get off Naboo and fast, understand? Give a false name if you have to, jump on a cargo ship going anywhere, and hide until they give up looking for you.”

A stone settles in my stomach and I bite my bottom lip. “What if they never give up?” I ask, voice wavering slightly. It makes me wince.

He sighs heavily and, maybe, there’s some sympathy on his face. “Then you just keep on running,” he tells me bluntly, voice gruff, and rubs a hand over his bald head. “Just remember, you offer someone enough and you can buy their silence until someone promises them more.”

_That_ much I understand easily. Money talks, loudly and clearly, and for as long as the money continues to spill from outstretched hands. I don’t say this, only nod my understanding, and Coltkale scowls at me, but gives his own, sharp nod and releases my elbow. Without another word, he walks away. He just leaves me at the port under this hot sun and clear blue sky with a bag on my shoulder holding some clothes and some credits that I stole from Father. Do I even have enough credits to survive? How much do things usually cost? I just ask Father for money and he hands over credits, usually a good amount, enough to buy whatever I want with some spare. He never asks for the leftover credits, either; it’s how I managed to save a good chunk that sits in a pouch in the bottom of my bag. Hopefully it’ll at least buy me a few days in an inn somewhere, or maybe travel to a different planet.

The problem is that I _burn_ to explore this one. I want the verdant green grass beneath my bare feet. I want to bask in the sunlight. I want to find flowers and put them in my hair and breathe in the smell of them. I want to climb a tree. I want to breathe fresh air for the first time in my whole life. So, I don’t go and start pestering people to get me away from here too. Instead, I approach a Gungan and ask him for directions to a place I might be able to stay overnight. He’s welcoming and helpful, even offers to walk me to an inn, but I settle for directions and thank him, though the gratitude still feels strange on my tongue.

It feels odd to walk through these strange streets beneath the sun with no escort at my side. There’s a breeze blowing against my skin that doesn’t come from speedsters racing past. There are clouds in the sky, white fluffy things that roll across the bright blue expanse. They fascinate me. I feel like I could lie for hours and just watch them make their way to wherever it is that clouds go. My lips twitch at the corners, curling upwards slightly, and it feels as odd as being without an escort, as being beneath the sunshine. The feeling bubbling up inside me feels strange, too, sort of like the warmth I used to feel when Mother would wrap me in her arms and sing to me when I was a small child. Those days had long since passed before she died, but the memory comes back to me now, warm and soothing, like the sun up above me.

Simply because I’m fascinated by everything, even get caught up staring at a bunch of pale purple and pink flowers for who knows how long, it takes me an age to get to the inn the Gungan pointed out to me. I don’t pick the flowers, just stroke my fingertips over the delicate, smooth petals and stare in awe. Eventually, though, I drag myself up and get myself to the inn, where a plump woman with deep smile lines on her face greets me cheerfully. She glances over me (and I know I look a mess, hair only hastily brushed and not bound, clothes wrinkled from being cramped in that horrible space) and immediately asks if I want a room. I simply nod and get promptly swept away to a room with the woman introducing herself as Nubala.

“I’m Yas –” I stop before I offer my full name. “Yas, just Yas.”

“Lovely to meet you, Yas,” Nubala replies brightly, not noticing my hesitation. “Here we are, dear, there’s a bath just through that door there and we serve lunch between twelve and two thirty, and dinner between five and eight, but you let me know if you want anything in between,” she rattles off, waving at the open door to the refresher. It’s much smaller than I’m used to. The whole room, the bedroom and the refresher, could fit into my walk-in closet back on Coruscant. “You get settled, dear, and we take payment by day, alright? It’s fifty credits a day, then food and drink are pay at the time.”

_Fifty credits_? I spend more than that on my _lunch_.

“I can pay you for the room now,” I offer, but she shakes her head and smiles at me, the lines around her mouth and eyes deepening. Her eyes are blue, as blue as the sky above this glorious planet.

“No, no, Yas, you get yourself settled and pay when you come down,” she tells me and backs out of the room. “I’ll see you later.”

“I appreciate it,” I say and I mean it, but it feels so awkward to voice any gratitude whatsoever.

On Coruscant, I got taught that people just gave me things, because of who I got born to and what my name was and what family I belonged to. There had never been any need to say ‘thank you’, unless it was a way to get what I wanted, as a way to manipulate. Now, however, here, Nubala smiles brightly at my words of gratitude, awkward as they are, and bustles off, closing the door behind her short, plump frame. It’s so strange, all of it, yet exhilarating. My blood buzzes and my lips twitch upwards at the corners again, especially when the bed bounces beneath me as I sprawl across it.

The room, yes, is small, but cosy and new and the door locks properly, so there’s no chance of anyone slipping in unnoticed, like the slaves used to do. I used to wake up to them sometimes, occasionally cleaning, occasionally just sitting or standing and staring out of my balcony doors at the city beyond. There’s no chance of any of those strange things happening, mostly because there’s no balcony. I like the colours, though, so much better than the clinical, silver and grey that made up my home. This room is a warm yellow colour, much like the rest of the planet from what little I’ve seen, and has natural, brown furnishings. I love it. I love every single bit of it, even the small refresher painted in bright blue with the small tub set above ground with clawed feet.

No matter how small the tub, the water runs clear and hot from the tap, allowing me to have a gorgeous bath filled with bubbles and with a view out over the rolling green hills of Naboo through the round window opposite the tub. I relax back against the edge of the tub, sighing happily at the sensation of becoming _clean_ once more. I haven’t had a chance to wash since I stepped onto that starship. This feels _magnificent_. The bubbles smell amazing and there’re washes for my hair that smell equally amazing. I sigh happily and let myself smile as I relax in the hot water, closing my eyes and tilting my head back against the edge of the tub. It really does feel glorious.

* * *

Maybe the near two weeks I spend on Naboo is a bit too long, but I’m utterly enraptured by the planet. Nubala is the sweetest person I’ve ever met in my life, doing kind things without ever being asked, and it pains me to leave, but I negotiate a ride on a small ship heading to Serenno. It’s not a planet I’ve ever heard of, but it’s out of the way and who would think to look for me on Serenno? Hopefully, it’s as beautiful as Naboo, which is exactly how I’d pictured Alderaan from Mother’s stories. The people that own the ship don’t say much about Serenno, just that I should be careful, but everyone tells me to be careful as a woman travelling the galaxy alone, so I don’t pay much attention, just excited for this new adventure. Plus, this time, I don’t have to sit in a black compartment for hours on end during the journey

The captain is a grumpy old woman that glowers at me suspiciously the entire journey, chewing on her remaining teeth. Honestly, she’s disgusting, but she accepts my credits (a hundred – that’s it, one hundred credits for a ride. I think I got swindled in my escape from Coruscant) and waves me off onto the dim, misty planet. It does have hills and open plains and thick forests, but it doesn’t have the same _warmth_ that Naboo held. It looks mysterious, though, beautiful in another way, and I want to explore, but there’s a sense of _something_ in the air that warns me not to travel too deeply into this planet. It’s harder to find a place to stay here, too, and I end up in a dingy cantina that rents out some unsavoury rooms over the bar. It’ll do, however, just for a while, though the Zabrak in charge stares at me too long and makes me feel uneasy.

No, Serenno is nothing like Naboo. It feels constantly damp, a heaviness in the air, and the dampness lingers after a long trek in the forest. The shower, which is tiny and cramped and grotty, doesn’t help much and I have to leave far too quickly when someone starts pounding on the door. Worse, the refresher is shared. Even worse than that, it’s a queue of men waiting to get into the refresher as I escape and they all leer at me. The hair on the back of my neck raises, but I don’t look at them and just head into my room. The locks here aren’t as sturdy as the inn in Naboo, but they get snapped closed and I spend the majority of the night staring at the door from my narrow cot, just waiting for someone to burst in and hurt me.

For the first time since I left Coruscant, I feel truly vulnerable. It’s not the all encompassing terror that I feel when completely engulfed in darkness, but it’s that fear that sits like poison in the blood and infects each and every part of a body. It’s the fear that I felt for Jacoamar and his friends. I feel that fear in this place, with those people just beneath my room, wandering the halls outside, and I realise that I don’t even have a weapon to protect myself. There’s no bodyguard here, not like on Coruscant. There’s no one that’ll eliminate any threat to me. It’s just me, and I don’t have a single clue of how to fight, how to protect myself, because someone has always done so for me. The thought makes me shudder.

Perhaps for the first time in my life, I am well and truly vulnerable. Here on Serenno, there’s no one that cares about me, even if it’s just the value of my name, my father’s wealth, or my face. Here, I’m truly at the mercy of everyone else. If someone decided they wanted to hurt me, they’d be able to, easily, because my entire life has been soft and indulgent. My father abused my mother in any way he liked, but he never laid hands on me. My brother and I hadn’t been close, but he only slapped me once, right across the face, and Father had beat him black and blue for doing so with a stern, but strangely dispassionate lecture about how my face was worth more than my brother could understand. At the time, I hadn’t understood either, but, now, I do – people want a pretty face, a trophy to be displayed, something to brag about, as though they had anything to do with my pretty face.

In contrast, however, my mother taught me that my pretty face could be used as a weapon. _People don’t expect brains behind a pretty face_ , Mother had whispered to me, _make them regret it, but make sure you take your time, don’t let them catch on_. I just used that advice to get what I wanted, flash my best smile at someone and receive a product the tradesman had been adamant couldn’t be sold, or pout my lips just so and have the male slaves clamouring to fulfil my wants and needs. After Mother taught me how, it never took much to get exactly what I wanted from life. Still, I ran from a world that offered me all that I needed, all I wanted, except for perhaps a husband that would treat me kindly, possibly even love me. Maybe I could’ve persuaded some other man, someone younger and stronger, to eliminate my husband, but maybe I would’ve only gotten myself killed in the process. I suppose I’ll never know now.

No one breaks into my room, though I still have a sleepless night, drifting in and out of consciousness without ever really getting any rest. There are dark marks beneath my eyes, though there’s no slave to apply my makeup and make me look presentable. I scowl at myself in the chipped mirror and chastise myself for not thinking to bring my own cosmetics, not that I know how to apply them, but I’m intelligent enough and I’m sure I could’ve worked it all out easily enough. How hard could it be? No, wait, that’s unfair. The girls spent _hours_ , sometimes, just making my face look perfect, as though there’re no blemishes whatsoever on my skin, which is always a complete lie. Dark marks all but live under my eyes and spots forever crop up too. Those girls did have a talent for making me look perfect.

Not that I can do my hair properly either. No matter how much I brush the long locks, it never sits as smooth or as shiny as it does when the girls style it for me and there’re always flyaway pieces nowadays. It makes my scowl deepen. I wrench the brush through my hair again, wincing at the tangles still caught in it, and then snap it into a ponytail fastened with the metal band I left Coruscant with. It doesn’t look as good as it did that day, the day of my escape, but it looks good enough for this backwater, especially when paired with my tight black trousers, knee length boots with the slight heel, and fitted, long-sleeved, black shirt in a nice, thick material. I look presentable, at least, to leave this place. I think I’ll see about getting off of this planet today, possibly tomorrow depending on the flights.

Eyes turn to me again as I stride into the main area of the bar, bag on my shoulder. I pay the bartender, though it’s not the same Zabrak from the previous night. “Do you know of any ships willing to accept passengers? I’ll pay, of course,” I ask quickly before I lose the confidence to do so.

“Not today,” the Zabrak grunts, wiping a drinking mug with a filthy rag. “Deliveries expected next week, probably persuade someone to take you along then, but, other than that, nothing expected,” he answers with a careless shrug and grins at me, showing his teeth. “Looks like you’re stuck with us, doll.”

“Thank you,” I say simply, though I want to spit a curse at him. At least that lie tastes a little more familiar on my tongue than the genuine gratitude. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out.”

“You do that, doll,” he throws back carelessly. “You want anything else while you’re here? Or you just looking for the quickest escape?”

Years of practice keeps my false smile in place as I slide onto a barstool and drop my bag beneath my feet, holding the top firmly between them. “I would love to know what you serve for breakfast,” I reply lightly. He looks amused, even puts the glass down to fix me with that amused smirk on his face, ice blue eyes glittering. “Is there a menu? Or is it a get what you’re given sort of thing.”

That makes a laugh bark out of his throat and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, but I firmly tell myself that I am in control. “Let me give you some advice, doll,” he chuckles and folds his forearms across the top of the bar as he leans towards me. “People like you, they don’t come around these parts all that often, so, when they do, people pay attention and they wonder what people like you are running from,” he states, voice rough, like his throat’s been rubbed raw. I almost shudder, but stay the impulse and merely stare back at him, chin raised and expression blank, just like I’ve been taught. “And when they’re pretty girls, that just makes it all the more interesting, doll, because pretty little girls usually have everything they want in the palms of their hands.”

“You think I’m pretty?” I drawl and earn myself another laugh from the red skinned Zabrak. Unlike his counterpart from last night, he bears no tattoos of his people, at least not visible ones.

“Let’s not dance around it, doll, _everyone_ in this room knows that you’re pretty, and _you_ know that you’re pretty,” he tells me. It’s true, I suppose. I’ve been told my whole life that I’m pretty and pretty faces get results. “We don’t get many pretty girls like you ‘round these parts, so what are you running from, pretty girl? What could be so terrible you run to a stink hole even the New Republic hasn’t deigned to visit? That the Empire forgot about after Dooku bit the dust?"

“If I was running, and I’m not saying that I am, what do you think I would be running from?” I question blandly, flicking a glance up to the Chistori that lounges against the bar not far from me, his strange, reptilian, yellow eyes fixed on me. I choose to ignore him.

“Everyone has their secrets, doll, just be careful who you tell yours to,” the bartender answers, shrugging his broad shoulders. He also ignores the Chistori still watching me closely. My skin prickles beneath his stare, but I determinedly don’t look at him again. “Secrets are weapons.”

This time, _I_ laugh and it’s a bitter, jagged thing that feels sharp as it leaves my mouth. “There’s no need to tell me that,” I tell him and, like my laugh, the words are harsh and biting. It seems to amuse him even more. “The trick is to make sure no one knows which secrets are true and which ones aren’t.”

“So, to lie?”

“Everyone lies – it’s just that some people are better at it than others.”

Renewed interest lights his gaze and I’m not sure if I like it, so I merely raise an eyebrow until he laughs under his breath and moves away. As he does, he tells the kitchen to make me a deluxe breakfast. In a place like this, I dread to think what classes as a ' _deluxe'_ breakfast around these parts, but I accept the plate of eggs and some kind of meat and sauce with a gracious nod and it doesn’t taste _too_ terrible. It’s nowhere near the standard of my old cook’s food, or even the food I had in the inn on Naboo, but it’ll do. I even manage to grace the cook and the Zabrak with a word of thanks as I drop some credits onto the bar, enough for the room and the meal, and then head out to explore the planet a little more. No one follows me, at least.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow, I end up staying on Serenno for nearly two months, exploring the planet and taunting the bartender, whose name I discover is Sakue. No one else bothers me when Sakue puts his stamp of approval on me, even if he does insist on calling me doll, but I manage to use whatever interest he has in me to my advantage. I get a better room, a private refresher, and the food improves considerably. I learn to play sabacc with the gruff and tough males of Serenno, who I feel like are probably part of a crime syndicate, but they adopt me as their own when I buy them a few rounds of drinks at the bar and they call me ridiculous nicknames, but I let it slide, because, when a trader appears and starts making inappropriate comments, the Besalisk cook Xeld throws him through a table.

_Ours_ , the boys seem to claim, _no one else gets to mess with her_.

Sakue, in particular, got extremely annoyed when a human male started flirting with me (and, honestly, that man was very charming, but I didn’t even get his name) and the Zabrak pulled a blaster on him and told him to find someone else to make eyes at. It’d made me laugh, properly laugh. That’s what Serenno gave me – laughter. Every single rude joke, every teasing remark, every time Dom throws his tankard at Femo when he loses at cards, it brings a laugh from me and it’s real; all of them were real on Serenno, but I still leave. The boys, as I’ve come to think of them, tell me not to get into trouble, Sakue tells me not to break any hearts, but they escort me to the ship I’ve bought passage on and terrify the poor pilot. I think of them as mine, selfishly perhaps.

“Come back,” Sakue tells me sternly, a grin on his face. “Place like this needs pretty girls like you.”

“There ain’t no girls like her,” Femo snorts. “Never seen any girl swindle as much money as she has, and wearing such a pretty smile while she does.”

“Obviously you don’t get out much,” I retort and earn myself a round of booming laughs from my boys. “And I might come back, if I remember.”

“What did I say about breaking hearts?” Sakue sighs and wrenches me into a one-armed hug, squeezing me against his muscled frame. I stiffen at the contact, awkwardly patting his back, and he thankfully releases me quickly. “We’ll see you soon, doll, and, until we do, look after this for me,” he smirks and presses a silver blaster into my hand, the weight of it awkward and unfamiliar in my palm, but I hold it firmly.

“That sounds like a promise,” I snort softly and step away onto the ship, sliding the blaster into my bag. “Disperse, boys, get back to making trouble.”

“Now that we have her permission, we should probably get to that,” Xeld cackles and waves all four hands at me. “I think this place is going to miss you, sweets.”

A small smile touches my mouth, though it’s hidden as my back’s to them. I don’t offer them any more words as the starship closes behind me and I get shown to my compartment. The amount of money I won from the boys at cards means I have almost doubled my credits, and I had plenty to start with, so that means I bought myself a whole compartment. It’s not a great compartment, in fact it’s tiny and squat, but it gives privacy from the others to think about the strange attachment I’d found to the boys in Serenno. It’s not something I’d expected to find, especially not on a planet like Serenno when I’d been so afraid, so vulnerable during my first night there, but they wormed their way in and taught me to play cards like a pro, hustling at every turn. It helps that I’m an excellent liar.

To save me from becoming attached to anyone else, I planet hop weekly, sometimes earlier if the opportunity presents itself and I don’t become close to anyone like I did the boys. I hustle at sabacc, like the boys taught me, and try not to think about how Dom and Femo bickered loudly about who taught me to play so well, right before Dom flung his tankard at Femo, and I hid behind the bar with Sakue. The memories ache, perhaps with the promise of what could have been in that tiny town on a misty planet with green trees, hidden far, far from Coruscant. I try not to pay attention to them.

Somehow, Sakue is the one that I miss the most. That damn Zabrak with his teasing and habit of calling me ‘doll’. I’ll randomly remember the way his muscular frame felt against me when he hugged me goodbye and it makes me feel flushed and warm and tingly, in a way I’m entirely not familiar with. I’d been fascinated with dark red skin, the way it just looked different to my own, far paler flesh, and the tattoos I found he had crawling over his arms in thick, black ink. I’d liked the way he looked at me, ice blue eyes piercing and searching and appreciative, and it all went beyond what I looked like. His interest had started when I’d spoken back to him, thrown sharp words in his face, and I know that I preened under his appreciation and the mere fact that a rough male like him could appreciate me, the way I looked, the way I acted. I try not to think about it too much, but it just pops up occasionally.

Those thoughts get dismissed as I step off of a cargo ship I bought my way onto. We’re on a planet called Tatooine, which I’ve heard numerous tales about, but it’s the kind of place you can disappear into and that’s the kind of place that I like. It’s a desert, the tan sands stretching out for as far as the eye can see, and, even if I didn’t planet hop, I can’t see myself lingering here for too long. There’s a weird energy in the air. I’m not afraid, not like that first night on Serenno, but there’s tension that crackles along the edges of my awareness. People look at me sideways in a way that suggests they don’t often get visitors round these parts, so I paste on my best smile as I approach a couple of timid looking humans. My travels have taught me how to point a blaster convincingly, though I’ve yet to actually fire one.

“I’m looking for a place to stay,” I say in my most pleasant tone. They blink at me, startled, with big brown eyes, and then look at each other. “Just for a few nights, until I can get passage to a Core Planet,” I add and they shuffle away without answering. Rude.

“Looking for a place to stay? Ain’t many inns ‘round here,” a female voice comes from behind me. I turn my head to find a short, older woman with a riot of red curls looking at me vaguely suspiciously, but with no malice.

“Oh?” I respond, frowning slightly, as I turn to face her properly. “In that case, do you know of any ships leaving today? Or someone willing to take me in for a night?”

“Hm, you come with me,” she decides and waves a thin, impatient hand at me. I obey, more out of curiosity than anything else. “There’s a traveller with his ship at my place for repairs,” she tells me and I notice a bag on her thin back wiggling. I try not to think about that. “He might be willing to take you somewhere for a fee,” she pauses and frowns at me sharply, lips pursing. “You got money, girl?”

“Yes,” I answer truthfully. I make money on every planet I go to and I’ve been to a fair number in the many months since I left Serenno behind, so there’s a good collection of credits gathered in the bottom of my now rather battered bag, even my clothes are battered now. Maybe I should invest in a new wardrobe. “How much does this traveller charge for passengers?”

“Eh, I don’t rightfully know, only met him today, but he seems an alright lad,” she shrugs. I feel myself vaguely amused by her, and intrigued by the wiggling bag on her back. “He’s out on a job at the minute, but we’ll do some negotiations, and I’m sure a girl like you knows how to get her own way.”

“Girl like me?” I echo, mildly insulted, but keep my voice clear and calm.

“Pretty, know how to dress, know to put on a smile when the time calls for it,” the woman throws back at me over her thin shoulder. I mean, she’s not wrong. “I’m Peli Motto, by the way.”

“Yas.”

“Just Yas?”

“I haven’t another name that means anything to me, so, yes, it’s just Yas.”

She gives another shrug of her bony shoulders that sends the bag wiggling again. “Whatever, doesn’t mean anything either way to me, but the Mandalorian might have something to say about it.”

“Mandalorian?” I repeat, too startled not to. I’d heard they’d all but been demolished on Mandalore, with an exception of a bounty hunter that a former Jedi used to favour. Those were all rumours, though, nothing certain. “It doesn’t matter,” I state firmly, recovering, and the woman snorts again. My hackles rise in irritation. “Money talks louder than names.”

“Hope you got a lot of it then, kid,” she retorts, still leading me through the blazing desert. At least the white dress had been a good idea.

“I’m very good at winning it,” I throw back snidely, irritated.

It makes her laugh, anyway, and then she starts rambling on about the Mandalorian’s crappy ship, which doesn’t instil confidence in the slightest. I refuse to die on a crappy ship. I may have been travelling the galaxy and planet hopping for almost a standard year now, but, seriously, I still have standards. Those standards are not met by the shabby antique of a ship we walk past into Peli’s place, which is chaos in itself. There are droids running around, but not actually touching the ship, and pieces of machinery litter just about every surface. Not that she seems to care, she just lowers the wiggling bag to the ground gently and coos at whatever’s inside. Dear Force, what is it?

Then, out waddles a tiny, green, baby of a creature with big ears and big, dark eyes that gaze up at me curiously. I think my heart stops for a moment. Then, he coos and reaches a three clawed hand out towards me. Oh, no, I don’t do babies, but this one waddles towards me and tugs on my skirt, before raising his arms with another sound, this one more displeased. Shit. Peli’s glaring at me too and I still need her to persuade this Mandalorian that I should get a ride to wherever he’s going. So, I crouch and awkwardly pick the kid up under his arms, drawing him to my chest when he wiggles slightly. He coos again, happy, and blinks up at me, his clawed fingers now gripping the ends of my ponytail.

“Do not pull my hair,” I warn him and earn myself a coo and a smile that, frankly, is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t do babies, but this one _might_ be an exception. I adjust my arm so it creates more of a cradle and let him lean against my bicep. He barely weighs anything at all. “I’ve never seen anyone like you,” I admit curiously, trailing a finger over the wisps of hair on his head.

“He’s a cutie, ain’t he?” Peli chuckles. “Likes you too, so I’m guessing you’re an alright sort.”

I hear myself laugh slightly and shake my head in response, which makes the baby gurgle delightedly as my hair sways. He grabs at it with both hands, the long plait I’d made hanging over one shoulder for him to play with. It does bring a smile to my face, but that smile does vanish when Peli happily announces I can watch him while she finishes the repairs to the ship. Um, what? No. I’ve never been in charge of watching a child, _ever_. On Coruscant, people had people to look after those children, even my mother did, though that’d been Father’s choice. During my travels, I haven’t exactly frequented places rife with small children. Strangely, they don’t tend to live at cantinas and gambling dens.

“Come on, you can bring him on the ship and, frankly, I could use the help,” Peli sighs and shuttles off before I can protest. I follow her, kid still in my arms, because I should not be responsible for another person. “Mandalorian doesn’t like droids.”

“Who doesn’t like droids? You literally programme them to do what you want,” I retort, confused, nose wrinkling slightly. The expression makes the kid gurgle out something like a laugh, so I scrunch my nose a little more and smile at the ensuing giggles.

“I didn’t ask questions,” Peli answers and sounds frustrated with that. “He offered good money.”

“I don’t know anything about mechanics, or babysitting,” I inform her and look around the cramped inside of the ship with a slight frown. How could one man, let alone two people, live in this space? It’s so narrow. It doesn’t even look like there’s a separate compartment for sleeping. Great. It’s going to be one of _those_ trips.

“Just entertain the kid, keep him busy, and I might need you to hold a few things, is all,” comes the dismissive reply from the mechanic woman. “You just park your butt down and he’ll let you know what he needs.”

“He doesn’t talk.”

“Trust me, he’ll let you know.”

That dire warning doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence, but I sink into a rickety feeling chair and settle the kid on my lap. It feels so weird, but he’s poking through the twists in my hair with his tiny claws and cooing occasionally, dark eyes flickering up to my face, as though he’s looking for something. I make a face at him each time he looks up at me, big dark eyes blinking at me adorably, and he giggles _every single time_. At some point, I unravel my hair, which really excites him, because, suddenly, there’s more to play with and he delves his tiny hands into the mass. It desperately needs cutting, but the kid doesn’t seem to care as he clings to it and happily coos away, even when I have to stand, balancing him in one arm against my side, and go to hold something in place for Peli.

Surprisingly, despite the babysitting, the day goes quite quickly, a break happening for food, which the kid all but inhales. Peli and I laugh at him and, in the space of a single day, I can feel a dangerous attachment forming. I need to get off of this planet and away from these people, but that won’t happen until the Mandalorian appears and I’ve persuaded him to let me on his ship. So, I have to sit here on the antique and feel myself softening at the kid now snuggled on my chest to go to sleep, Peli already dozing next to me. I chuckle slightly and place the kid in her arms, making sure she rouses enough to hold him securely, before I wander off in search of a toilet.

It takes some time poking through the ship before I finally find a narrow little refresher, complete with an even narrower shower. Great. Maybe Peli will let me use her shower before we leave. I’m sure she has a normal sized one in her house, even if it is likely to be a sonic shower on a desert planet. I sigh, but quickly use the facilities and pause in washing my hands at the sudden sound of a yelp. What was that? Did Peli drop the kid in her sleep? It didn’t sound like the kid. I can feel that unease jumping through me, though, buzzing at the edges of my awareness, and I curse myself for leaving my bag out there with my blaster inside it. I got too comfortable and that made me stupid, hence the need for no attachments. _Stupid_.

Another yelp, this one louder, definitely Peli from the muffled plead, has me stiffening and pressing my ear to the refresher door. When the kid lets out a distressed cry, horror floods me. Is the Mandalorian hurting them? Is he trying to skip out on his payment? I need to go and find someone who can help. I’ve never even been in a fight. My speciality is talking my way out of trouble, not fighting my way out of trouble. Maybe, though, if I can get hold of my blaster, point it threateningly to get his attention, and then start talking him down, we’ll all be alright.

The problem with that is that I’m not exactly brave. My heart thunders painfully against my ribcage and every survival instinct tells me to stay hidden in the refresher, but the kid cries out again and my stomach lurches. He’s just a kid, dammit! Not even my father beat children. I mean, yes, he did used to slap my brother occasionally, but not when he was as small as the little green one out there, I don’t think he did anyway. I am the youngest of us. That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that Peli, who is kind, if a bit blunt, and the kid, who is small and helpless, are being hurt and I have the element of surprise. That means I have the advantage.

My hand shakes, but I open the door, wincing at the whooshing sound and momentarily freezing, but no one comes running and I can’t hear anything now. They must’ve moved away, hopefully far enough that I can get to my bag and, consequently, my blaster. I can barely breathe. It feels like my heart’s lodged itself in my throat. I manage to sneak across the ship and, for the first time, I’m glad that it’s small, because it means I cover the ground easily, quickly. My feet freeze in the hangar, though, when I see a man on the ramp, his back to me, but I can see the kid’s tan coat peeking over his arm and Peli stood just in front of him. I can see her riotous curls. He doesn’t turn to me. I move as silently as I can to my bag and delve inside, fingers immediately curling around my blaster.

Blood pounds loudly in my ears as I slowly rise back to my feet, so much so I can’t hear what the man is saying, but the kid’s cries reach me. They break my heart. They also move my feet. I move as silently as I can, grabbing onto all of my self-control not to breathe too loudly, to step carefully and slowly, and approach the man from behind. Over his narrow shoulder, I catch sight of another person all in silver armour, including a silver helmet. That’s the Mandalorian, from the stories I’ve heard. Is he with this person? I can’t think that right now, not as I lift my blaster and press it lightly to the back of the other man’s skull, right in the centre.

“You got two options,” I state, voice far calmer than I feel. I watch the muscles in his back tense, arm tightening around the kid, who wails and peers at me over the man’s shoulder. I can’t even offer him a smile. “You put the kid down, let Peli go, and walk away, or I put a hole in your skull,” I inform him and hear the cold blandness that coats every word. It threatens to make me shudder. I sound like my father. “Take your pick.”

“Yas, run,” Peli hisses at me, then promptly yelps when the man smacks her with the blaster.

“Do that again, and you lose one option, buddy,” I snap and flick the safety from the blaster in my hand. He tenses again. “Guess which one it’ll be.”

“I’m sure we can talk about this,” he says, but there’s a tremble in his voice, a waver, that lets me know I have the upper hand. “Look, the bounty on the kid and the Mandalorian – we can split it.”

Bounty? On a _kid_? Fuck that.

“I have plenty of money, sweetheart,” I retort sweetly and force his head forward as I press the blaster closer to his skull. He hisses something out between his teeth. “I don’t care about the Mandalorian, but the kid and Peli? You’re going to let them go.”

“Look, be reasonable, doll –”

I fire a warning shot just past his ear and he yelps, ducking, and, most importantly, he drops the baby.

“Grab the kid!” I snap at Peli and she does. She dives at him and bolts towards the Mandalorian, who, in turn, runs right towards them. “Drop your blaster,” I command the man still in front of me, but, well, he’s turning now, straightening up, and he looks _pissed_. Shit. “You want money? Fine, I’ll match the bounty on those two,” I inform him confidently, blaster aimed at his chest, but he steps towards me and, instinctively, I step back. 

A grin curls at the man’s mouth and my heart launches up into my throat. “Trust me, you don’t have that kind of money,” he promises and steps forward again. “Never fired that thing, have you? Look at you, all talk, nothing to back it up with.”

He reaches for me, for my blaster.

I slam my eyes shut as I squeeze the trigger.

A choke, then a thud, and then silence, except for my ragged breathing.

Slowly, I peel my eyes open to find the man sprawled across the ship’s ramp, definitely dead.

_Fuck_.

I’ve never killed someone before. It doesn’t feel nice.

I’m still aiming the blaster down at the man, when the Mandalorian grabs my wrist and wrenches the weapon from me. I don’t fight it. My head is spinning, only stopping on the dead body. The Mandalorian, though, crowds into my space, shiny and silver in his armour, and his hand is tight around my wrist. My breath rattles in my chest. My blood is pounding loudly in my ears again, a constant rushing noise that makes it difficult to concentrate on what the Mandalorian is saying through his helmet. I blink and shake my head and drag in a forcibly slow, steadying breath that aches in my chest, before I fix my eyes on the Mandalorian’s helmet.

“I need a ride,” I inform him, voice clear and calm, somehow, and march back into the ship. “I think saving your life is payment enough.”

“What?”

* * *

Apparently, the kid belongs to the Mandalorian, since he’s there on the Mandalorian’s lap the next morning. I slept in some little nook I found, glowered at the Mandalorian when he tried to get me off the ship, and woke up the next morning aching, but I’m still getting off of Tatooine in this ship. This morning, though, the kid coos happily at me and reaches his arms out as I approach. The Mandalorian, I assume, isn’t happy with my presence, but he doesn’t stop me from taking the kid, who immediately latches onto my hair and gurgles when I wrinkle my nose at him. The body’s gone from the ramp, at least, and Peli bustles in with some food that looks edible, so I drop into a seat at the table the Mandalorian is sat at to eat it.

“You need to get off my ship,” the Mandalorian informs me, voice modulated through the helmet.

I pick up a fork and stab the food on the plate Peli sets in front of me, her thin hand squeezing my shoulder. “And I told you that I need a ride,” I reply calmly and let the kid take a bit of food from my plate. I don’t feel that hungry anyway. It’s just a show. “And I think stopping that man that wanted to sell you and the kid out for a bounty is payment enough, don’t you?”

“I don’t even know where I’m going,” he argues and I sense that he’s glaring at me through his helmet. “You’re staying here with Mott.”

“No, I’m not,” I answer and sigh as I flick my gaze up to him and feel the kid wrap his claws into my hair, the other hand grabbing another bit of fruit from my plate. “Smaller bites, kid, you’ll choke,” I advise automatically and earn myself a coo from him. “I’m not a fan of desert planets, I’ve discovered, so I’ll be leaving as soon as possible and you’re leaving this planet, aren’t you? That means, I’m going with you.”

“I said no,” he insists and the kid whines at the sharpness of his tone. “There’s not enough room for all of us.”

“Then I guess you’d better choose a planet close by, and nowhere sandy – it gets in my hair,” I say lightly and pop a bit of fruit into my mouth, smiling slightly at the upset coo that the kid lets out. “You are aware that this is my food, and I’m merely sharing with you? You should be glad of that,” I inform him, smiling when he gurgles in reply. “I wasn’t raised to share, you know.”

“I can believe that,” Peli mutters and deliberately doesn’t meet my glare when I look over at her. “What? You seem the type that always got what she wanted as a kid, never had to give anything up,” she shrugs, voice defensive.

I deliberate with being insulted, but decide not to be as I pop some more food in my mouth and let the kid take some from my fork after. He coos happily, which is frankly adorable, and I adore him, which is dangerous, at least for me, because I don’t do attachments. Still, he eases some of the nausea from killing that man, helps the food settle in my gut, and he smiles at me, tiny little teeth gleaming and bright in his mouth. He leans back against my chest, happily accepting the food I feed him, and I concentrate on him so I can avoid the stare from the helmeted Mandalorian sat opposite us.

“It does make me wonder why a girl like you is wandering the galaxy all alone, hitching rides on random ships,” Peli continues, somehow bolstered by my silence. My eyes cut to her.

“A girl like me?” I echo, because, frankly, I am sick of being described that way. Everyone assumes things about me from the way I look, the long blonde hair and the pale skin and the blue eyes. They assume I’m delicate and breakable and easily manoeuvred into place. Since I left Coruscant, I’ve tried very hard to become someone that can handle themselves and become self-sufficient, and I have. “How do you mean?” I press at her silence, voice soft, gentle even, as I feed the kid another bit of food and he hums happily.

“I just mean, you’re obviously born well, raised well, and with money,” Peli shrugs, meeting my gaze fearlessly, while the Mandalorian watches it with an air of awkwardness. “Just makes a person wonder, is all.”

“I’m a very good liar,” I shrug, not answering the question, not confirming nor denying my heritage.

If anyone in the New Republic, probably on the Outer Rims too, knew who my family were, who my father was, I’d be strung up, or worse. My father did terrible things in the reign of the Empire, worse things in the war against the New Republic, and his name is well-known. I don’t know about my own name, but I know better than to throw around the name ‘Solvan’, even for threatening purposes. Besides, tossing around that name would only attract attention and the whole point of running away was get away from my family, what’s left of it anyway.

“Where’d you grow up?” Peli asks and it almost feels like a challenge.

A slight smirk curls at my mouth, especially since even the kid tilts his head to look at me curiously. “My family travelled a lot,” I answer vaguely and pick up my drink, taking a sip. “Not really from any place in particular.”

“Travelling salesmen don’t make the money it costs for your wardrobe,” Peli snorts. Unfortunately, that’s completely correct and my eyes narrow on her. “Are you some kind of assassin?”

“No,” the Mandalorian scoffs. I glare at him, insulted. “She closed her eyes when she fired the blaster.”

“I was being threatened,” I argue.

“Last night was the first time you fired that blaster,” he retorts. I mean, it’s true, but he doesn’t have to say it like that, like it’s a bad thing. “Wasn’t it?”

“I’m far better at talking my way out of trouble,” I throw back, a barb in my tone. The kid whines, upset at the arguing, but shushes when I feed him some more food. “There’s no need to kill someone if they’re willing to turn around and help you with a few of the right words,” I shrug carelessly and wave a hand dismissively. “The idiot from last night was resistant, but normally it works out very well.”

“I think you two will have loads of fun together,” Peli decides. “You should start heading out if you want to make any good time today.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I agree with a pleasant smile and turn a challenging gaze to the Mandalorian. “Thank you for all of your help, Peli, it’s truly appreciated.”

“You come back _any_ time,” she cackles. “You too, little one.”

She rubs a fond thumb over the kid’s overly large ear and bustles off, ordering the Mandalorian to take care of us as she does. He doesn’t seem pleased, but I’m only getting that from his body language since his face is covered. It’s disconcerting, but I’m sure I can adapt and still get what I want. I smirk in response to the stare I can feel burning into my skin. Do I bait him? See how far I can push him? Which buttons I need to press to get a reaction other than an irritated word? I doubt he would cause me any harm, especially not while I hold the kid, who’s basically just in my plate of food at this point. I leave him to it and wait for the Mandalorian to make the first move.

“I have a job to do, then I’ll find somewhere to leave you,” he decides, sighing heavily.

I smile sweetly. “Sounds perfect.”

“We’ll discuss payment at a later date,” he adds and then stands, like he can escape the discussion that’s happening now, thank you.

“Payment? I’m the one that killed the bounty hunter,” I argue furiously, standing. The kid lets out a disappointed whine as I remove him from the food and hold him against me. “If it weren’t for me –”

“I had a plan,” the Mandalorian interrupts, voice harsh through the modulator. I scoff. “All you did was get in the way.”

“Get in the way?” I echo, voice soft, despite the fury bubbling through my blood. “Is that what I did?”

“You could’ve got yourself, the kid, and Mott killed,” he states, like it’s fact, as though he could possibly know what exactly I’m capable of. I watch him, feeling my eyes narrow slightly on the armoured man. “Someone that doesn’t know how to use a blaster shouldn’t hold one,” he adds and continues walking away.

“I suppose I’ll just charge you in babysitting,” I decide, sitting back down and facing my food. A smirk tugs at my mouth when I hear his boots come to a stop. “And then there’s yesterday, when I helped Peli look after him, so let’s say I charge thirty credits a day babysitting –”

“ _Thirty credits_?”

“A day,” I confirm and turn my head to smile at him slyly. “How long did you say this job would take?”

“I’m not paying you thirty credits a day,” he protests. “You’re also not getting a free ride.”

“It’s not free – I’m babysitting,” I all but sing and the kid coos happily, curling his little claws tighter around my loose hair. “We’ll discuss blaster lessons later.”

“Blaster lessons?” he repeats, tone blank.

“If I put people in such danger by holding a blaster and not knowing how to use it, surely I should have lessons,” I state and blink over at him guilelessly, as though I’m no more than foolish little girl with no idea of how the galaxy works.

He doesn’t answer, just stomps away with such obvious irritation that I almost laugh. Instead, I merely smile down at the baby’s cooing to find that he’s eaten all of my food. My triumphant smile morphs into one of wry amusement, a small sigh leaving me, but he only coos at me and rests his head against my chest, right over my heart. His other hand – now free since all the food is gone – wraps into my hair too. He looks content, sat here in my arms, against my chest, his hands in my hair, and I feel a warmth spread through me at his little smile. I should really put him down, distance myself, carve my own space in this antique, but I find myself carrying him around as I set about readying myself properly for the day ahead, while the Mandalorian starts the ship and it rises into the air.

The kid sits quietly on a chair as I change from my nightgown and into a long skirt of light blue with a slit up the left side, and a loose, long-sleeved, white top with a v shaped neckline. I sit on the edge of the chair, next to the kid, and brush out my long hair again, before carefully twisting it into a plait that falls to my lower back. It’s basically the only style that I can do. The kid coos as I’m sliding the sections into place and he waddles over, grabbing at the ends curiously. He really is fascinated with my hair. I smile at him fondly and slow my hands to show him what I’m doing, talking my way through it in a quiet tone. He listens intently, big dark eyes fixed on my hair, his tiny little hands over my own, claws occasionally catching at my hair, and I smile.

Yep, definitely going to miss him when I’m gone. I’ll add him to the little pocket of my heart that holds the boys from Serenno, the same one that holds my mother, though she takes up far more room. She gave me love, gave me the ability to survive. The boys gave me laughter and the ability to beat anyone at cards. The kid, I think, will offer me a chance to be soft, which is a mildly terrifying thought. I’ve never been soft. Softness does not offer anything other than weakness, a vulnerability that can be used against you to offer great harm. I don’t know why Mother used to say that I was her greatest strength when I only ever offered something that could be used as a weapon against her.


	4. Chapter 4

The kid doesn’t have a name apparently and nor does the Mandalorian, who informs me that people call him Mando when I offer my own name. I don’t give him my proper name, obviously, just ‘Yas’, which I’ve been using since I left Coruscant. We just call the kid ‘kid’, which he answers to readily enough and usually with a happy coo while he’s stealing my food. Not that Mando has much food of quality to offer. I sense he’s not best pleased when I announce this one day, probably about four days into our space travels, but he doesn’t comment on my opinion. After this job of his, when we finally get to it, he’d better buy some proper food for the rest of our journey together, however long it is.

Perhaps nine standard days into our little trip together, we reach a space station hangar and Mando seems strangely on edge, even more so than usual I mean. We’ve been travelling in close quarters for almost two weeks, so I think I know him a little bit and, yes, he gets irritated easily and sighs an unnatural amount, but, as we fly into the hangar, he’s tense beneath his shiny armour (“ _beskar_ ,” he told me once after I commented on the armour, “ _it’s called beskar_ ”) and he holds the controls for the ship a little tighter than usual. I watch him carefully from my little seat behind the pilot’s seat in the cockpit, which I’ve taken to sitting in with the kid and irritating Mando in by talking to the kid, sometimes singing. The kid loves the upbeat songs. Mando really doesn’t.

“Hide,” Mando suddenly orders.

I blink at his back. “Excuse me? I thought these were friends of yours.”

“We worked together,” he corrects me, agitated and obviously so. “I never said they were my friends.”

“So, what? I’m supposed to just hide until this job is over and done with?” I demand, insulted, a frown settled on my face.

“You aren’t supposed to be here in the first place,” he retorts, equally annoyed. I scoff and roll my eyes. “These people won’t hesitate to hurt you, no matter how many pretty words you throw at them, or try to drag you into their job and get you captured, or worse.”

“Captured?” I repeat. It doesn’t sound appealing. “Fine, I’ll go into the sleeping compartment,” I sigh reluctantly and stand. “What about the kid?”

“Take him with you, just stay quiet until I come back,” Mando answers and sounds oddly relieved I’m not putting up more of a fight. “I should be able to leave the ship in the hangar, locked up tight, so you’ll be free to wander around as long as you stay out of sight.”

“I’m still taking snacks,” I decide and climb down the ladder into the cargo hold. “Come on, kiddo, we’re going for snacks and naps time,” I smile and he coos happily, dropping into my arms trustingly. “None for Mando, though, because he’s far too serious for snacks and naps time, isn’t he?”

The kid gurgles happily and grabs the ends of my hair, which is loose for once, while we head into the squat little kitchen and grab some protein bars for snacks. That done, I change into a nightgown, for comfortable sleeping, and we crawl into the sleeping compartment. We leave the door open for now as I sit with my back against the wall and fold my legs in front of me to create a cradle that the little guy sits in happily. He munches happily on the half of the protein bar I hand him, while I nibble on the other half and sing a lullaby into his ear. It’s a song that my mother used to sing to me, one I haven’t thought of in years, but I sing it for the kid and it never fails to send him right into slumber. The thought of Mando singing it after I’ve been dropped off somewhere makes me laugh to myself, fingers stroking over the kid’s head and ears as he drops off to sleep against me.

Mando appears in the entrance to the little nook, hand already positioned over the button to close the doors. “Keep quiet,” he instructs. “And take care of the kid.”

“Kid’s asleep already,” I retort, perhaps a little smugly.

“Enjoy your snacks and naps,” he states and sounds vaguely amused, maybe even teasing.

Colour floods my cheeks as my mouth opens with a biting reply, but he shuts the doors before I can respond. Had he been listening to my silly baby talk to the kid? Even the part where I said he was too serious? Mildly embarrassing, but do I really care? After this job is done, he’ll drop me off somewhere and we’ll go our separate ways. Maybe I can persuade him to drop me off on Naboo. I’ve been thinking about going back there for a while and I bet the kid would love all the grass. In some places, it’d be taller than his tiny little frame. I smile at the thought as I settle more comfortably and pull a book from my bag to distract myself. The kid stays sleeping, tiny little snores leaving him. He really is the cutest little thing.]

At some point, I must fall asleep too, curled around the kid with my book slipping from my fingers. There’s still a collection of protein bars to get through, but I sleep peacefully with the kid nestled in close and my arms wrapped around him protectively. I don’t know how long we sleep, but I wake to voices outside the sleeping compartment and they aren’t familiar voices. It’s definitely not Mando. The fact I don’t recognise the voices has me sitting up quickly, just managing to avoid smacking my head into the top of the sleeping compartment. The kid whines sleepily, but easily falls back to sleep when I hum soothingly and tuck him into the bed properly, fixing the blanket around him comfortably. He continues to sleep, while I sit myself right on the edge of the bed with the blaster held between my fingers. I don’t care if Mando doesn’t think I can use it. I can use it enough to protect the kid.

The voices outside raise, like the owners are arguing, but the words are muffled through the metal walls and door, so I can’t work out what they’re arguing about. It makes me tense, eyes fixed on the doors, just waiting for someone to come bursting in. There must be at least three of them, from what I can hear, one a female, so I have no idea what exactly I’ll do when they open the door, what I can do, but I’ll have to do something. I can’t just leave them take the kid and do whatever they want to him. What if they want to sell him for his bounty? I don’t know who has the bounty on him, but they can’t be good people to be after a kid.

Suddenly, there’s a bang right outside the door. I jump, blaster raising in a white knuckled hand, and aim directly at the opening of the door. My heart thunders against my ribcage. Wait. Maybe I shouldn’t go in blaster at the ready, creating a fight right off the bat. Maybe I need to persuade them that I’m harmless, then show them otherwise once their loyalties have been twisted enough. I need to turn them against each other so that they’ll destroy one another, instead of me. I can be a compliant little hostage, keep the kid safely hidden, and use my talent for manipulation and persuasion to my best advantage.

It runs through my mind in the space off a few seconds, enough time for me to shove the blanket further over the kid, leaving enough breathing space so he doesn’t suffocate, and then lay myself on the cot, also under the blanket, with the blaster hidden beneath the pillow. My heart rate hasn’t slowed, even as I force myself to relax into the narrow, yet still somehow lumpy mattress, and shut my eyes. It happens just as the doors fly open and the kid wakes with a small whine at the noise, only staying still when my hand lays over him and his dark eyes find mine. I press my finger to my lips in a sign for quiet, then pull myself up with a convincing yawn and a stretch, eyes finding a bald human man, a purple Twi’lek woman, and a red Devaronian.

Well, shit.

“Who are you?” I sound suitably quavering, I think, frightened and vulnerable. “How did you get on this ship?”

“Mando, you are just full of surprises,” the Twi’lek hisses, a jealous tone in her anger. Mando? His name makes me frown, uncertainty tripping through my blood. He said he’d be leaving the ship behind. “Keeping yourself a little bed warmer.”

My mouth drops open at the audacity of the other female. How dare she suggest that I’m little more than some pleasure whore to be kept to sate Mando’s whims and wants. Perhaps sensing that I’m about to saying something scathing and rude about how not all of us have to spread our legs to get ahead in life, Mando places himself in front of me, back to me, and starts attempting to talk the Twi’lek down. I roll my eyes, but take the distraction to cover the kid up a little more, hand rested over him on top of the blanket. I know he’s still awake, can feel him clinging to the skirt of my nightgown, but he stays silent, just like I need him to.

“She’s a passenger, paid for me to take her to Jakku,” Mando lies, quite well actually. Jakku, though? I hate desert planets. Still don’t know why I went to Tatooine in the first place. “I didn’t know we were using the ship, or I would’ve left her where I found her.”

“Found me? I found you,” I mutter and earn myself one of those big sighs of his.

“You really have changed,” the Twi’lek giggles. I raise my eyebrows at the Mandalorian’s back. I want to hear about this, but maybe not while the kid’s awake and clutching at my nightgown. “I remember a time you would’ve made sure a pretty thing like that –” I roll my eyes, don’t even try to hide it “– didn’t wear that many clothes.”

I choke on air, which brings everyone’s attention back to me, but I find myself wheezing out laughter, while Mando stares at me through his helmet and I feel like he’s trying to convey his agitation. “Mando?” I ask incredulously. “You sure you aren’t just projecting your hopes and dreams?” I mock the Twi’lek, which earns me another hiss, her teeth bared at me. “But thanks for calling me pretty; wish I could return the sentiment.”

She lunges. Mando grabs her by the shoulders and shoves her back. I smile sweetly at her rage.

“Stop it,” Mando orders me. I blink back at him innocently. “You’re doing that thing where you deliberately provoke people, so stop it,” he insists sternly and the tone makes the kid tighten his grip on my nightgown.

“Fine, I’ll play nice,” I agree with a sigh. He snorts. “I can do that.”

“No, you can’t,” he sighs, pained. I narrow my eyes on him, insulted, and he points a finger at me. I’m half tempted to bite it. “Just keep your mouth shut and that way I don’t have to stop someone killing you.”

“No one has ever tried to kill me,” I protest, insulted. Another snort, this one echoed by the Twi’lek. “That’s rude.”

“Yas,” he snaps at me, warning. It does make me silence. He never says my name normally. “Look, like I said, she’s just a passenger, can’t even fire a blaster –”

“I can fire a blaster.”

“You fired a blaster once and, somehow, by a miracle, managed to hit your target, even with both eyes closed,” he retorts and seems to speaking through gritted teeth. The others laugh. My eyes narrow on the Mandalorian for humiliating me in front of his little mercenary friends. “She’ll stay out of the way, won’t even know she’s there.”

“Not likely to forget her,” the Devaronian grins, revealing pointed teeth. I shudder when his eyes drop to my chest and he licks his lips. _Disgusting_. “Let her out to play, Mando, can’t keep a girl like that for yourself.”

“I’m not a possession,” I spit the words out, insulted and bristling. I ran away from all I’ve ever known, left behind a life of luxury, to make sure I never became a possession and I refuse to be spoken as though I’m one now.

“Aw, don’t be like that, pretty girl, come on out,” the Devaronian insists, still grinning. He tries to reach past Mando, who slams a hand into his chest and forces him to stop. I think I’m going to vomit. I grip the blaster under the pillow tightly, the other hand on the kid’s back. I can feel him shaking. “I’m not going to hurt her – she’ll enjoy herself,” the Devaronian laughs, a terrible grating sound that makes me shudder.

“She’s paid for protection, and a lot for it,” Mando warns, lying again, but he’s lying well enough that I don’t step in and weave a more believable tale. “Unless she tells me to let you grab her, it’s not going to happen,” he warns as I resist the urge to pull the blaster out and start randomly firing. I don’t think Mando would appreciate it.

“It’s not going to happen,” I promise, lip curling in disgust, and the grin slides from the Devaronian’s face. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

Mando gets tossed aside, easily, like he weighs little more than paper. I gasp in shock, torn between shrinking back against the wall and lunging to cover the kid, but then the Devaronian is reaching towards me, reaching for my ankle, while the Twi’lek laughs, and I slam my foot into his face with all my might. He shouts, but grabs my ankle in a too tight grip, so tight I can feel my skin bruising and my bones grinding together. I can’t stop the cry of pain that leaves me, which, in turn, makes the kid wail, upset. No. Not the kid.

Desperate, I try kicking the Devaronian again, but he grabs my other ankle, holding it just as tightly, and drags me forcibly forward. The blankets come with me, which exposes the baby, and he cries as I’m torn out of his grasp. The sight of him, though, makes everyone freeze, even if the Devaronian doesn’t release me. With everyone distracted, I try to wrest my way free, but that seems to break him of his stupor. I yelp as he yanks me from the sleeping compartment and I slam into the ground, blaster slipping from my fingers with a loud clatter. It momentarily winds me. My nightgown’s all bunched up around my thighs too, where he’s holding my ankles up almost to his hips, exposing my legs to all of them.

“Get your hands off of her.”

Behind the Devaronian stands Mando, _my_ blaster pointed at the other male’s horned head. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see that helmeted warrior in beskar.

“Or you _will_ die.”

Slowly, the Devaronian releases my ankles. My legs smack into the ground with a clang and it hurts, but I don’t really care at the moment. I stand with as much dignity is left to me (honestly, it’s not much, but I have vestiges of experience behind me) and glare at the unwanted newcomers. Mando is still tense, my blaster still clutched in his hand, and his helmet seems to be focused on the kid still wailing behind me. Tiny, clawed fingers wrap into my skirt, tugging to get my attention. I reach down and stroke my fingers over his head, a soothing hum leaving my throat as, automatically, I drop into a crouch and face him. He looks upset, brow furrowed, ears down, and a pout on his lips that looks, vaguely, like my own when I don’t get my own way.

“Hey, let me tell you a little secret,” I say to him and his big, dark eyes look up at me, a little shinier than normal. He does let out a curious little coo. I smile a little and stroke a thumb over the edge of his ear. “I always get my own way,” I inform him in a whisper and he seems to consider it, before giving another coo and raising his arms to be cuddled. “You want something to eat, huh? Would that make it all better?”

The answering coo is all I need to gather him up and sweep past the gaping morons to the kitchen. Mando follows, because of course he does, with booted feet thudding lightly against the floor. The floor’s cold beneath my feet. I don’t usually wander around barefoot, usually wearing slippers or shoes, so it’s a little bit of a shock to the system, but I don’t really mind. The kid feels warm and reassuring in my arms, his soft cooing and his little fingers wrapped into my hair and his big ears twitching as I hum to him. He really is the sweetest little thing. I should’ve been off this ship ages ago, because then I would not be so attached to the little guy, but, dammit, he’s so easy to get attached to.

“Are you okay?” Mando asks, voice quiet, gruff.

I glance up at him and give a small nod, though I do feel a bit shaken. “People tend to think they can take whatever they want from me,” I answer, also quiet, and give a small shrug. “They don’t tend to succeed, but they try.”

“You dropped this,” Mando sighs and holds out my blaster. I take it and tuck it into the hand under the kid. I’m going to assume Mando put the safety on. “Try not to drop it, especially if you’re talking your way into a fight.”

“I didn’t start that.”

“You didn’t _help_ the situation.”

“What are they even doing here? You said the ship would be left at the hangar.”

“They only wanted my help because of the Crest.”

“Seriously? This antique?”

I can all but feel his indignant rage at my casual insult to his ship. “It’s not known on any system – Empire or New Republic,” he answers, though I don’t know why he’s explaining himself to me. If the boot were on the other foot, I wouldn’t be explaining myself. “They needed an undetectable ship.”

“Why? Where are we going?” I demand, voice lowering even further, arms tightening around the kid, who’s desperately trying to grab the dried fruit packet from the shelf. I give it to him, making sure to open it as I do. “What about the kid? This doesn’t exactly sound safe, Mando.”

“You and the kid are going to stay hidden, just like we discussed,” Mando responds and he looks behind him, to where his friends are all watching us far too closely. “You just had to make an argument,” he mutters with another sigh.

“ _I’m_ not the one that started that, and it is not my fault that that Devaronian got grabby,” I snarl lividly, finally facing him properly. The kid whines at the obvious anger. Mando doesn’t move, even as I jab a finger into his chest. “ _You_ were the one that didn’t get the full information, and _you_ were the one that didn’t warn me about all of this, otherwise we could’ve come up with an alternative plan,” I inform him furiously, jabbing him with every point that I make. I wish that I could see his stupid face. Instead, all that I can see is that ridiculously shiny helmet of beskar. “So, don’t lecture me because of _your_ poor planning skills, am I understood?”

“Get your food, take the kid, and go back to the compartment,” he commands, biting the words out through gritted teeth. “Am I understood?” he mocks me and I glare at him angrily.

“Come on, baby, let’s get something nice – I mean, with what standards there are on this ship,” I say, a sharp bite to my tone. I almost _hear_ Mando rolling his eyes. “We can’t all live on _protein_ bars and _dehydrated_ portions, especially not the kid,” I inform him archly and refuse to look at him again as I search the cupboards for something decent, not there’s much, but we make do.

The kid and I get a good amount of dried fruit, which doesn’t taste too badly, and even manage to source a handful of chewsticks at the back of a cupboard. The kid wiggles excitedly at the sight of them, making grabby hands before we even leave the kitchen. I smile at him fondly and give him a chewstick to shove into his mouth on our way back to the sleeping compartment. Mando watches us carefully from the edge of the cargo hold, stood right next to that Devaronian, maybe to keep him in line, and everyone else watches us too. Awareness prickles across my skin, crawling over my arms and up my neck and clawing its way down my spine, but I keep a small smile on my face as the kid coos happily around his chewstick and I hum to him soothingly.

At least I do, right up until the Twi’lek plants herself in my path and blocks me from reaching the sleeping compartment.

“You’re in my way,” I smile sweetly. “Excuse me.”

“You’re a funny little thing,” she grins at me, her canines sharpened and pointed. I thought that was something only the males did, but that’s only from the small titbits that I’ve had from the slaves, before I gave up listening. “What’s your name?”

“Nubala,” I lie flatly. “Now, get out of my way.”

“Or _what_?” she hisses, drawing a knife from her hip.

My heart jumps slightly at the obvious threat, even as I meet her gaze and look as unimpressed as I can possibly manage, which is extremely unimpressed. “I’ve asked you nicely,” I tell her calmly. “Let’s not make a confrontation when there doesn’t need to be one.”

Mando _sighs_. I’m worried he’s going to run out of air from all those sighs. How much can one person sigh? He sighs at me and the kid a lot.

“I thought we were just having a conversation,” the Twi’lek answers, blinking big brown eyes at me, but with those sharpened incisors still bared at me.

A small laugh breathes out of my mouth and the only reason I don’t crowd into her space to intimidate her, just like Sakue taught me, is the fact that I’m holding the kid, who doesn’t look pleased with the Twi’lek. “Let me assure you that I’ve been playing this word game for a lot longer than you, so _get out of my way_ ,” I command, injecting the ice my father used to use to make people tremble in their boots. “Because I don’t have time for this, because the kid is going to need a nap in the next ten minutes and you do not want to deal with him when he’s cranky.”

“Xi’an,” the human man interjects as she glares at me hatefully. “Just let her go – it’s not important right now.”

I don’t say anything, but the ‘right now’ part of that statement gets filed away for future inspection. The Twi’lek gives a final hiss of anger, then steps aside and lets me pass. She looks ready to rip my throat out when I chirp out a cheery word of thanks. Mando shakes his head slightly and, I have a feeling, he’d be pinching the bridge of his nose as he prayed for patience. The image (though I can’t think of what he might look like; it changes so often in my head) makes me smile when I’m safely sat in the sleeping compartment and it’s closed behind me.

Finally, there’s solitude with the kid and, in that solitude, my body begins to shake, violent tremors that wrack through my entire frame. The kid coos up at me worriedly from around his chewstick, brow furrowed, but relaxes when I stroke a finger over his head and murmur soothingly to him. He relaxes against my leg, which means I force my tremors to stop, because no one can know how they shook me, even if it’s just the kid. Besides, if I’m not confident, the kid will be afraid and we can’t have that. Still, I feel frightened of the mercenaries out there, of how easily they could hurt me, despite all my talk. They could crush me, easily, without even trying, because I have no fighting skills whatsoever.

“Remind me to persuade Mando to teach me how to use this blaster,” I mumble to the kid, who coos and holds his hand out for another chewstick. I push the blaster beneath my thigh on the cot, out of the kid’s reach. “Also remind me to make sure you brush those tiny gnashers, kiddo, else they’re just going to fall out of your head.”

* * *

Sleep does not come to me while I wait for Mando to come back. The kid snores in the cot, tucked safely beneath the blankets, while I sit against the wall and try to concentrate on my book (it’s some sappy love story between a Jedi and a queen from Naboo), but my mind keeps drifting, as do my eyes. Every part of me feels tense, jittery and on edge. It’s not a feeling that I like. Weakness is not something I appreciate, especially not in myself. It’s not something that I ever really experienced, not even growing up. I knew that I could have anything I wanted, therefore it wasn’t necessary for me to be physically powerful, because there were always people to do what I needed. Money bought strength and I had plenty of money.

A lack of sleep is something that I’m used to, though nowadays I lack the cosmetics to rid myself of the dark marks beneath my eyes. Strangely, I’ve slept better on this hunk of junk than I have in a long time. It’s difficult to relax when you’re constantly running. So, even though this antique has a shitty, narrow, lumpy cot and it’s located in a cramped compartment, I sleep easier on this thing, because, really, it doesn’t feel like running when I’m bickering with Mando and playing with the kid. It’s a dangerous thought, one I shouldn’t be lingering on, but it lingers as I sit and I stare at the door with my book clutched in one hand and the other hand rested on the kid, feeling his tiny frame rise and fall with each breath.

Over time, however, it becomes near impossible to ignore the increasing pressure in my bladder. I really don’t want to leave the kid, but I tuck him in firmly, whisper for him to stay put, and slide out of the compartment. They’re not back yet, so I swiftly make my way to the facilities to relieve myself. It doesn’t take long and I hate the time I’m away from the kid, not trusting him to be alone, because what if they left someone on the ship? A frown creases my face at the thought and I hurry my footsteps back to the sleeping compartment, only to freeze when I find it wide open and the blankets rumpled and the bed empty.

No.

 _No_.

“Kid?” I say desperately, wrenching the blankets fully out of the way and even checking under the pillow. “Kid?” I repeat, fear pulsing through my blood, beating through my entire being. “No, no, no, no,” I chant, terrified. Mando is going to _kill_ me. “Kid, please, this is not the time to play hide and seek,” I snap and start checking through the cargo hold.

Every movement is borne of desperation and fear for this tiny little creature I’ve grown far too attached to. Things get tossed aside carelessly, but, really, I don’t care, not as long as I find the kid. I can’t find him in the cargo hold, so I head to the kitchen next, because that little guy loves his food. He’s not in the kitchen, though, not even hidden in one of the cupboards and stuffing his face with food. With every empty space, my heart beats faster with a helplessness and fear I’ve never felt before.

When have I ever been concerned with someone other than myself? I was spoilt and indulged and taken care of, so there was never a need to care about anyone else. Mother had trained me to look after myself and kindness had been a weakness, or a weapon to be used in the right way. Father never formed any sort of real bond with me, no parental love there, so I didn’t care what happened to him, other than the fact he funded my lifestyle. My relationship with my brother had been one rife with conflict. He despised how Father gave into my every whim, offered me whatever my selfish little heart decided, and, yet, gave him no support whatsoever and only ever berated him. Of course, Father couldn’t be blamed, so my brother blamed me and we couldn’t be in a room together without lunging, metaphorically, for one another’s throats.

Now, however, there’s this tiny green creature that’s captured my heart and I’ve gone and lost him on a ship with potential hostiles. The most remarkable thing is that I’m _frightened_ for him, for his safety, and not because he gives me anything, just because I’m _concerned_ for him. That’s scarier than throwing myself back into the jaws of the Empire remnants. I shudder and struggle to control my fear, the sickening clenching at my gut, as I continue the hunt for the kid, but grows increasingly difficult as I search and come up empty-handed.

“Kid, please,” I whisper shakily, palms clammy, chest tight.

A coo comes from behind me. I spin around and find the kid stood in the middle of the cargo hold; arms already held out for me to pick him up. He gets swept into a tight embrace almost immediately, his tiny frame tucked against my chest protectively. My eyes close in relief, a small sob leaving me. He coos again, but it’s not his worried coo, or his happy coo. It sounds more urgent, like he wants my attention, sort of like when he wants the food from my plate that I’m deliberately keeping out of his reach and I’m refusing to play his little game.

As I lift my head to look down at him, to see if I can work out what he wants, heavy footsteps reach my ears, metallic and certainly not Mando’s. You barely hear Mando’s footsteps, light as they are, despite the ammo usually hung around his boots. This person, with their heavy footsteps, is not Mando and, therefore, they do not belong on this ship. I don’t even have a blaster right now. Shit. My best bet is to hunker down, hide, and wait for Mando to return and eliminate the threat. I ignore the little voice that wonders if he’s coming back. His mercenary friends hardly seemed the trustworthy type.

Hastily, that pessimistic thought is shaken off as I crawl back into the sleeping compartment and shut the doors. The kid gets put right at the back, against the wall, with the pillow placed in front of him. He lets out a sound of confusion, but obediently silences when I place my finger against my lips in a wordless command. He peers out at me over the top of the pillow, tiny claws clinging to the edge of the flat rectangle. I can’t even manage a reassuring smile for him as I grab the blaster and kneel on the bed, blaster aimed and ready at the door. Maybe my arms shake, but I stay in position, ready and waiting.

Who knows how I wait there? There’s no way to track time in this compartment and every second feels like it takes a lifetime. My heart thunders against my ribcage, while sweat gathers at the base of my spine and pools in the palms of my hands. It slicks the handle of the blaster, but I hold onto the weapon determinedly and do my best to keep my breaths calm and steady, but I don’t think it works. Every breath seems so loud in my ears, bursting from my chest in harsh puffs. I wait, though, I wait for the threat to come to me, because I have to protect the kid. Every single part of me screams to do so, to keep him safe, to keep him unharmed, because I love him, even after such a small amount of time. Maybe it was fate, meeting him, meeting Mando, or maybe it was just chance, but whatever it was, I love him, this tiny little being with his big dark eyes and ridiculously large ears.

The doors open. A black droid with an insect like head stands there with a rifle in its hand.

I don’t think. I don’t close my eyes. I just fire and watch the droid clang to the ground, everything blurred around me.

Stood behind the droid, blaster raised, is Mando and, when I look down at the droid, I realise there are two blaster holes in it. We both shot. We both hit our target.

“The kid?” Mando demands as he strides over and kicks the droid out of his way. “Yas, where’s the kid?” he insists, but the kid answers that as he coos and waddles over, reaching his tiny arms up to the beskar clad man. “You okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” I nod and slump back down, dropping the blaster and raking shaky hands through my hair. “I, on the other hand, feel like I’ve aged ten years,” I mutter darkly and earn myself a look from the Mandalorian, though who knows what kind of look, since I can’t see through his helmet. “You need better friends.”

“They weren’t my friends,” he informs me flatly.

“Good, because they were awful people,” I return bluntly and I think he’s amused, but it’s so difficult to tell. “Where are they anyway?”

“I’ll explain later,” he provides vaguely, voice heavy and rather tired. I frown at him. “Get dressed, then come to the cockpit – I don’t want you down here alone with Qin,” he tells me and my frown deepens, but I nod my agreement.

“Give me five minutes.”

“I’ll give you half an hour then.”

He seems very proud of his little joke, while I glare at him. I don’t deign to respond as I leave the compartment and snatch my bag up as I do. It doesn’t not take my half an hour to get dressed (okay, yes, it does take longer than five minutes, but I have to do my hair too), but Mando still seems impatient when I leave the refresher in a comfortable, but still pretty, red and black dress. Very Imperial, I know, but it fits nicely and is extremely comfortable when lounging around the ship, or anywhere really. I feel a lot better in the floor length dress, even if it does have a diamond shape cut out the back, and I follow Mando up to the cockpit, feet still bare. I ignore the male Twi’lek lounging in the cargo bay, even as he calls out to us. A faint smirk tugs at my mouth when Mando locks the door behind us.

“Who is Qin and what happened to the others?” I demand when I’m sat comfortably and putting my hair into two plaits. The kid coos at me and clumsily grabs at my hair. “Not now, kiddo, wait until I’ve finished,” I instruct softly and earn myself a puff of disappointment, but he’s easily distracted when Mando hands him a shiny, silver ball from one of the controls.

“The others planned to betray me from the start,” Mando admits bluntly. I scoff, unsurprised. “I left them behind, but Qin is what I got paid to retrieve, so he’s down below.”

“I told you it was a bad plan,” I tell him, perhaps a little smugly.

“Really? We’re going for an ‘I told you so’?” he sighs and I grin slightly as I tie off one plait and start on the second.

“I do like being right, and it happens often, so I’m usually happy,” I reply cheerily and earn myself a happy gurgle from the kid. Mando doesn’t seem as amused by it, but he’s rarely amused by anything. “Where did you retrieve Qin from?”

“A ship carrying prisoners,” Mando answers, short as ever. My eyes sharpen on him. “He’s not a good guy.”

“I guessed that from him being on a prison ship,” I state dryly and sigh, finishing my second plait and finally letting the kid play with my hair. He coos happily and triumphantly at getting his own way. I know the feeling.

“We’re just dropping him off and then we’re free to find you a planet,” Mando adds.

There’s this strange feeling of disappointment, sadness even, at the thought of leaving. “I’m fairly certain that, after today, I’m owed at least another few days’ worth of travel before finding somewhere appropriate,” I say, deliberately keeping my voice light and even. He turns his head, staring at me through his helmet. “And we need to fill those cupboards with some proper food before I leave for good, or this kid is going to starve,” I continue. That earns a happy coo from said kid, who has the end of one of my plaits in his mouth. I decide to ignore it for now. “Not to mention making the place more comfortable.”

“A few more days?”

“I think that’s the least I’m owed.”

“I would’ve thought you’d want off this ship after today.”

I should, but I want to stay with the kid, at least for a little longer. “I take debts very seriously, Mandalorian,” I say simply and rub a thumb over the kid’s big ear, eyes dropping to the little green creature. “And you can’t pay your debt to me if you dump me on some backwater planet, can you?”

He doesn’t answer, just fiddles with the controls for the ship, no longer staring at me, and the kid looks between us with curious eyes, my hair still in his mouth. I wink down at him with a small smile and earn myself a toothy grin in response, a little coo leaving his mouth. Mando doesn’t look at us again, too busy concentrating on wherever in the Maker we’re going. It’s okay. I’m used to his silences now, grew up with silences, especially after Mother died, but those silences were heavy and oppressive. These silences, Mando’s silences, are oddly soothing, calming, and I feel relaxed as I curl into the seat and the kid sits with me, playing with my hair and cooing along to the song I hum into his ear. I like this, and I’m selfish enough to hold onto it as long as I can.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

So, apparently, Mando left the other three mercenaries on the prison ship, after they attempted to leave him for dead, and then he blew up the hangar of the guy that hired him after getting paid. I have to be honest, it was impressive, not that I told him that. His head wouldn’t fit in that helmet of his. He does attempt to persuade me to leave the ship when we reach some green, lush, beautiful planet that, actually, really does appeal to me and is exactly the kind of planet I’d normally adore, but I make him stay for a few days, so I can shop, fill his cupboards, hustle some credits from people, and also get my hair cut (the kid looks heartbroken when I come back and it no longer reaches the small of my back, instead now reaching the middle). Mando just sighs when I park my backside into my seat in the cockpit and refuse to leave.

He lets me stay. He’s perfectly capable of slinging me over his shoulder and carting me off to wherever he wants me to be, but he lets me stay. Maybe it’s because the kid and I have bonded so well, even if he’s not impressed when I offer the kid some advice on how to survive in the galaxy. Evidently, my ways to survive and his ways to survive are very different things. It makes me smile, especially when the kid coos and pats whatever body part he can reach the easiest in order to make me continue. Since I tend to carry him, it’s usually my face. So, clearly, the kid likes my advice, even if Mando doesn’t. I tell him how to know when someone’s lying, what to look for in their face and their body language, what to listen for in their voice, and how to avoid showing those signs yourself. Not that the kid’s anywhere near ready for that, given he communicates in coos and gestures, but we’ll get there, eventually.

We’re sat in the cockpit and I’m reading to the kid from one of the sappy romance novels I have (this one’s about a Stormtrooper and a rebel pilot. It’s delightfully juicy, and I do skip over the saucier sections). It’s probably closer to a month since I hopped on board the antique ship, but Mando hasn’t yet succeeded in making me leave and I’m happy enough helping to take care of the kid and helping Mando arrange hammocks in both our sleeping compartments for the kid to use (he never uses the one in mine; the kid always snuggles in next to me, so the hammock’s become a storage space), and just generally making the ship into a proper living space, instead of the clinical dump I first stepped onto.

“’And, all at once, with the heat of a thousand suns, CR-18 gathered Breday into his arms and kissed him passionately,’” I read from the book and skim over the, frankly, ridiculously detailed love scene that followed. “I think we’ll skip that part,” I murmur to the kid, who coos and places a hand on the page curiously. “No, really, that’s not a conversation I’m ever having with you, so let’s skip to the part where the trooper’s captain finds him cavorting with the enemy,” I insist and brush his hand from the page.

“You shouldn’t fill his head with that nonsense,” Mando scolds from his seat, without even looking at us. I snort and flip a few pages (it’s a _very_ detailed scene, which I will be coming back to once the kid is safely asleep with Mando for the night). “He’s too young to understand anyway.”

“He likes it,” I insist and adjust my seat to make myself more comfortable. “And, if you don’t approve, find something more suitable, in your opinion, and I’ll read that instead, but until then, we’re going to find out how this epic romance ends.”

“It’s not even realistic,” protests Mando, sounding utterly frustrated with me, and it only serves to make me laugh.

“So? It’s not the realism of the story people buy the books for,” I shrug, laughing again when the kid slaps the book impatiently. “Okay, okay, we’ll just ignore him and carry on,” I agree, but, before I can start reading again, a hologram message pops up in front of Mando.

The message glows blue, occasionally flickering, though clear enough, and the basic gist of it is that there’s Imperial rule on the planet the sender of the holo is on. He mentions a despotic rule, then he offers Mando a deal – help him out and he’ll restore Mando’s honour, and not fight on him keeping the kid. I already know Mando’s going to go. I’ve only known him a short time, but I do know that’s a man of honour, far more so than anyone I’ve ever met. What about the kid, though? What about _me_? I’m not made to be fighting in a battle, thanks, but I can’t just leave him take the kid into a fight, can I?

“How do you feel about trees?” Mando asks quietly, quite a number of minutes after the end of the message.

“Are you dumping me on a planet to go and do something stupid?” I ask, equally quiet, a tension settling heavily over the both of us. “Because, if you are, I’m going to have to protest and up my babysitting prices.”

“I’ll come back, take you somewhere more suited to your standards,” he promises, and I know he means it. “I could leave the kid with you.”

“I know more about Imperial troops than you could imagine,” I tell him, refusing to look at him, staring down at the kid and stroking a finger over his three clawed hand. “I might be able to help, if I know who’s in charge.”

“It’s too dangerous, and you still can’t shoot,” he denies immediately, and I can feel him watching me. “And what do you know about Imperial troops?”

I hesitate, biting the inside of my upper lip and feeling nausea swirl in my gut. “I grew up on Coruscant, surrounded by Imperial troops,” I tell him and I’m not lying, but it’s not the whole truth. “You learn a lot when people don’t expect there to be anything inside your skull.”

“That...explains a lot,” Mando allows and I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “You act like someone that always gets what she wants – makes sense if you grew up in a place where the whole galaxy was at your fingertips.”

A small laugh leaves me, but it’s quiet and a little hollow. “I never paid attention to the ugliness, because it didn’t matter, because I had everything I could possibly want; pretty dresses and sparkly jewellery and no one, _no one_ , was allowed to touch me,” I pause, frowning slightly, staring at my book. “My brother once slapped me across the face – the only time in my life I’ve ever been struck – and my father beat him black and blue for it, because my only value was in what I looked like, how high of a price I could be sold.

“So, you learn a lot when no one expects anything of you other than standing there with a pretty smile. I know all the important names and their weaknesses, because every man has a weakness, and, usually, it’s about something they want to –” I stop and glance at the kid, before covering his big ears with my hands. “Something they want to stick their dick into,” I finish bluntly and earn myself a snort from the Mandalorian. The kid whines and bats at my hands until I release his ears. “Find out who the commander is and I’ll tell you everything you need to know to bring him to his knees, and with just a few words.”

Mando stares at me for a while, that damned helmet making it impossible to know what he’s thinking, before he gives a small nod and turns back to his controls. “For what it’s worth,” he says quietly, “you’re far more than a pretty smile.”

My head snaps up, startled, colour flooding my cheeks, but I’m met with the back of his helmet and he’s not looking at me, not now. Slowly, knowing he can’t see me, a smile curls at the corners of my mouth at the compliment, and it is a compliment, especially from a man like him. The kid pulls me out of it by tugging on my hair and patting the book again. It makes me continue reading and, this time, Mando doesn’t sigh at the romantic drivel, as he once called it. I have a feeling he secretly likes the stories, though it’s probably wiser not to call him on it now, especially not when we seem to have found a tentative truce in this moment, where I’ve actually be honest for the first time in a very long time. When you lie about everything, the lies become second-nature and you can’t pick apart the truth from the lies anymore. It’s all just part of the bigger story you’ve crafted for yourself. I’ve given him some part of me, a small part, with no true power behind it, but I’ve offered it and he’s taken it, without judgement.

* * *

We travel peacefully to our next planet, though I glare at him suspiciously when I see the trees outside the ship. I make sure to hold onto the kid as I follow him over the soft, springy, vibrantly green grass. It really is a beautiful planet. The kid obviously likes it too, since he wiggles until I put him down and he waddles around happily with little cooing noises. It makes me smile, his happiness. He’s always so unapologetically happy, ready to find the next thing to intrigue him. Quite frankly, it’s adorable, especially those little coos, and I obligingly stop when he tugs on my skirt and points at something scurrying in the grass. Whatever it is, it looks big and furry and it has a long tail. I don’t do stuff like that.

“No,” I state simply and continue walking, perhaps at a slightly quicker pace. “Quickly, kiddo, or we’ll be leaving you in the woods to fend for yourself.”

“You wouldn’t,” Mando scoffs. I glare at him. “You do whatever he asks of you.”

“You do too,” I retort defensively and feel tiny hands wrap into my skirt again. “And don’t even think about denying it,” I sniff haughtily and smirk slightly at his defensive posture. “We’re both slaves to his whims.”

Mando doesn’t argue, so I take it he knows I’m right. I smile triumphantly as we enter a small village, where the kid immediately pulls on my skirt to be picked up. Of course I give in to him. Mando’s judgement burns me as I do, but I ignore that as the kid settles comfortably in my arms and peers around curiously, ears twitching. A few people look at us, but none of them show the usual surprise or suspicion at seeing a Mandalorian and a small, green creature. It makes me think that, possibly, they’ve been here before, or these people just don’t give a shit about anything. I’m not sure which is more likely.

“Ooh, a book stall –”

“No, you’re not getting more of those trashy novels,” Mando interrupts and grabs my arm before I can approach.

“I swear there was a Mandalorian on one of the covers,” I protest, grinning at his back, and the kid coos, waving his arms, in agreement. “Don’t you want to know what they’re writing about? Maybe it’s a Mandalorian and Twi’lek,” I taunt and only laugh when he turns and glares at me through the helmet.

“You are _this_ close to being left here,” he threatens. I laugh a little louder. “I will dump you in a swamp.”

“Are you saying that you’re not interested at all?”

“I’m saying that you’re infuriating.”

“It only makes your time with me that much more enjoyable.”

“Do we have the same meaning of the word infuriating?”

“You say infuriating, I say endearing.”

“You’re delusional.”

“I’m buying that book, just you wait.”

“I will _leave_ you here.”

“Liar, the kid would cry, and we both know you hate it when the kid cries.”

He doesn’t respond, not as he drags me into some tiny tavern, where a human woman and a male Zabrak are boxing using a laser tether. I stop at the sight of the Zabrak, seeing the red skin, but, when his head turns, it isn’t the face of Sakue. His eyes aren’t the same either, blue but not the ice blue I associate with my friend. I relax slightly when I realise it isn’t him, still not sure entirely how I feel about him, and take the time to look around curiously. The kid does the same, which is good. It’s always best to be aware of your surroundings and who is in your surroundings, potential allies, definite enemies.

The woman wins against the Zabrak and rises, a grin on her sweaty face. She’s sturdy and strong with thick arms and tanned skin. Her black hair is braided back on one side, while the other hangs to her shoulder. She’s pretty, I suppose, but none would dare assume she’s nothing more than a pretty token. Her grin grows when she spots Mando, a cheery call of his name leaving her lips, but the grin falters in surprise, eyebrows lifting, when she spots me holding the kid. The kid coos and waves at her, which brings a wry smile to her face. I have to force down the small bubble of jealousy that forms, arms tightening briefly around the kid. He doesn’t try to leave me, though, stays happily snuggled against my chest.

“You made a new friend,” she teases Mando and he sighs, predictably. “Cara,” she introduces herself and thrusts a gauntleted hand at me.

“Yas,” I answer and shake the hand, managing not to wince at her grip. “I’m going to find some food,” I decide and turn, but yelp when Mando grabs my arm again.

“Do _not_ get that stupid book,” he warns me. “Just get something to stock the cupboards, enough for the four of us, understand?”

“Since when do I follow your orders?” I retort. “You staying with me, kid? Or Mando?”

The kid looks horrified he has to make a choice, one hand outstretched towards me and the other reaching for Mando, which makes Cara chuckle. “Take him with you,” Mando decides and lets the kid cling to his finger for a moment, before dropping his hand. “And meet back at the ship in an hour.”

“If you leave me on this planet, I will hunt you across the galaxy,” I threaten him cheerfully, sweeping away before he can respond, but I know he’s probably heaved a great sigh and is lamenting his life choices. “We’ll get the new books first,” I tell the kid when we’re safely away from the tavern. The kid cheers and gurgles happily at me. “I know, he just hasn’t got any taste,” I agree and give him a little squeeze. He coos, patting my hair, which is styled to fall over one shoulder and fastened with a slide I bought on the last planet we were on. “You want some more chewsticks? Or maybe we can find a place that sells the space waffle mix; you ever had space waffles? They’re good.”

I chatter away to the kid as we make our way through the marketplace. He coos back at me happily enough, wiggling excitedly when I buy another three books (including the Mandalorian one, just out of curiosity really) and then growing even more excited when I buy some food. He gets a fried frog on a stick to keep him occupied while I run my fingers over some fabrics and ask after the price. I know how to sew. It was expected of me, though I’ve never put it to any practical use. I’m sure I can make something of it, though I do ask the seller if they know of any patterns I could buy to go with the shimmery blue fabric.

The woman’s face lights up at the question and, immediately, she pulls some patterns out from a shelf beneath the stall. They look a bit dusty, as though they’ve been sat waiting for a while, but they’re sewing patterns, depicting dresses and shirts and skirts of different styles. They’ll certainly help. I agree to buy them all, then also buy some more fabric and some more reels of thread in varying colours. It does mean I now have too much to carry, what with the food and the books and the fabric. The kid’s already been delegated to walk, which he is not impressed with, but he cheers up when I buy him another frog on a stick. I still have a healthy amount of money, so I pay for a pair of teenaged boys to carry my things to the ship.

Mando’s waiting with Cara, who looks mightily amused at my little entourage. “What – where did you get the money for this?” Mando demands, exasperated. “And where are you going to put it?”

“Just put it in the cargo hold for now,” I instruct the boys, waving them forward. They obey instantly. Apparently, fifty credits are a lot around here. “I’ll work it out,” I say dismissively. “Here, we got you a frog on a stick,” I say and thrust one at him and one at Cara. “Appreciate that, the kid tried to eat at least three times, but I think he only got one bite out of it, possibly two.”

“Is there anything else we can do for you, Miss?” one of the boys asks hopefully.

“No, thank you, but here’s the payment I promised,” I answer and hand them fifty credits each. Their jaws drop at the shiny, gold credits. “Spend it wisely.”

“Unlike you, you mean?” Mando mutters sarcastically from behind me and doesn’t react when I glare at him over my shoulder.

“I have bought food and fabric, which are very practical, thank you very much,” I snap back at him. “We will, however, need to make a stop somewhere I can win some more money,” I add and shoo the kid away when he dives headfirst into the food. “And look after him while I try and tidy this place.”

“It’s _your_ stuff,” Mando argues. “You _should_ tidy it.”

“You won’t even let me in half the cabinets,” I protest furiously, pointing to the one that holds the blasters as an example. “You don’t _use_ those blasters! It’s always the same one and that rifle!”

“Can I take a look?” Cara asks eagerly and strides to the cupboard in question at Mando’s nod. The door flies open as Mando presses a button on his armguard. I roll my eyes. “These are nice,” she grins at us and laughs at my unimpressed expression.

“The kid can get in that cupboard easily,” I add mulishly.

“He can also get into your novels easily, and they’re hardly suitable for a child.”

“I doubt he can read.”

“You read them _to_ him.”

“I skip the inappropriate parts.”

“I heard you reading about someone ripping someone else’s shirt open.”

“That was part of a fight scene, not a love scene.”

“They’re completely unrealistic.”

“That’s not the point – the kid enjoys being read to, and the story has to entertain me too, otherwise what’s the point?”

“Surely there are more suitable things you could reading to him.”

“What’s wrong with a bit of romance? From what that Twi’lek said, you used to –”

My voice vanishes when Mando steps into my personal space all at once, intimidating and suddenly very close, head tilted down so he can glare at me through his helmet. “The Twi’lek didn’t know what she was talking about,” he informs me, voice sharp, warning, daring me to continue with this. “You can play your mind games with everyone else, but you don’t play them with me, and definitely not the kid, understand?”

I swallow roughly, unnerved by his sudden closeness as much by his words. “I wouldn’t do that to the kid,” I protest quietly. “And I’m not playing games, not here.”

“Keep it that way,” he commands and marches past me, obviously still tense and on edge.

Uncomfortably, startled, I watch him leave, struggling to work out what just happened, but I force on a smile when the kid lets out a worried sound and pulls on my skirt. I get to work to distract myself from the encounter, the uncertainty still lingering in my blood, threatening to make me tremble, but I have far more self control than that. The kid isn’t helpful, determined to get the treats he knows we bought, and Mando’s clearly not planning on taking him while I tidy things away, including some of his things, but I choose to just file that away for later use.

The problem is, the longer I tidy, the more I think about his accusations, the angrier I become. I _trusted_ him with a secret about myself, a secret I’m not proud of, and he just – he was _cruel_ , digging a knife right in and deciding to hurt. It leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. His words shouldn’t even affect me like they have. I have control over words and Mando shoots things – that’s the way things work. He doesn’t get to use the words I gave him against me. That’s what I do to people. It’s not a pleasant feeling to have it returned.

Eventually, when we’re deep in space and I’ve finished tidying everything away, despite the kid’s habit of getting in the way, I snatch the kid up and go to the cockpit, where Mando and Cara are getting cosy. “Watch him,” I command and shove the kid into Mando’s hands. “I’m going for a shower.”

“The water heater’s broken again,” Mando informs me. I somehow manage not to scream.

“You said you were fixing that,” I bite out, teeth gritted, heat flushing down my spine. “ _Three planets ago_.”

“Didn’t get a –“ he stops, startled, when I fling my shoe at his head. It collides with his helmet with a dull clang. The kid lets out an upset cry. “What was that for?”

“Oh Maker,” Cara breathes.

“Watch the kid,” I repeat, instead of letting loose the tirade sitting on the tip of my tongue, and climb back down the ladder into the cargo hold.

Despite the water heater _still_ not being fixed, I still go for my shower and shudder the whole time, though my anger keeps me warm. My hair gets washed thoroughly, all while I mutter furiously under my breath about idiot Mandalorians and getting off of this ship at the first opportunity. I knew I’d spent too long here, despite the kid. Now, Mando’s lost the polite, if gruff, veneer and is growing frustrated at my presence, just like everyone does when I stick around for too long. Even the boys on Serenno, despite telling me to come back and visit, hadn’t been happy when I didn’t reciprocate their advances, or I won too many credits from them playing sabacc. I knew how to get back into their good graces, though, and, with Mando, I don’t know what to say, or what to do, get back into his favour.

Suddenly, as I’m wrapping my long hair into a towel, another already wrapped around my body, the ship lurches to one side. My body smacks painfully into the wall, no doubt causing a bruise across the side. A yelp leaves my lips, hands scrabbling to find purchase, but the ship twists again and I get flung into the floor, this time colliding knee first with the unforgiving surface. Another cry of pain leaves me, especially when my wrist bends awkwardly during my attempt to break my fall. I swear I felt something pop in there. _Ow_. Shit. _Ow_. I don’t like pain.

Acutely aware of the pain thrumming through just about every part of me, I manage to limp to my feet and then out of the refresher. Upon further inspection, there’s a bad graze across my knee that’s steadily oozing blood, and another on the opposite elbow. My wrist is swelling rapidly, ballooning up really, and it hurts to put my full weight on my injured leg. The towel around my hair landed somewhere in the refresher, while I have to hold the one around me up firmly to prevent it slipping down, but I do have to sit down after a few steps, because the blood is spilling more freely down my leg and dripping onto the floor.

“Yas, are you –” Mando stops, physically stops and stops talking, when he sees me. “Oh,” he settles on after a few moments. “You – you’re bleeding.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” I mutter in return, attempting to rotate my wrist, only to hiss at the pain. “What in the name of the Maker happened? Were we hit? Is it the Empire? Did they find us?”

“Mishap with the controls,” he answers, voice gruff, as, finally, he starts moving again and drops into a crouch in front of me to inspect my injuries.

My eyebrows shoot up. “Mishap? What kind of mishap?” I demand, only to whine through my teeth when his gloved fingers wrap around my swelling wrist. “That _hurts_.”

“I know it hurts, but I have to look at it to see if it’s broken,” he tells me, forcibly patient. “I think it’s just a nasty sprain.”

“ _Just_?” I repeat incredulously.

“I’ve seen worse,” Mando shrugs and stands, moving away from me. “A few days rest with a brace on it and it’ll be fine,” he informs me and then comes back, brace in hand now. He crouches once more and, with a gentleness that surprises me, carefully wraps it around my wrist. “Your knee looks worse than your elbow, but both should heal relatively quickly, and without a scar.”

I’m more relieved by that than I should be, but there’s not a single scar on my body and I’d like to keep it that way, thanks. “Okay,” I nod, voice quiet. “Thank you,” I add and the words still feel heavy and awkward when meant genuinely.

Silence falls as Mando cleans my bleeding elbow and knee, then carefully applies some bacta spray and some bandages while it heals. His fingers are surprisingly gentle on my skin, despite the gloves he wears. The fabric of them feels rough against my skin, but, strangely, I don’t find it unpleasant. Not for the first time, as I watch his helmet, while he focuses on his task, I wonder what he looks like, what sorts of expressions he pulls, if he can easily hide his feelings, or if that’s what the mask is for. He says it’s because of his Creed, which I struggle to respect, because, especially now, I wonder what his reaction to me is. Is he irritated that I’m so soft? So easily damaged? Or is he, like most men, easily distracted by bare swathes of skin laid out for inspection? It’d be so easy for him to look at me, at my body, considering my current state of dress, but he appears to be focused on his task. I can’t imagine his range of vision is that wide with the T-shaped visor on the front of his helmet.

“I never even skinned my knee as a child,” I hear myself say, feel his hands pause on my elbow, if only for a split second. “Most children run around, get into scrapes, but I never did, never scraped my knees, never bumped my head, never did anything adventurous whatsoever.”

“Is that why you left?” he asks, voice as quiet as mine. “To find an adventure?”

I hesitate, torn between a part-truth and the real-truth. “I ran for many reasons,” I say carefully and I know my wording catches his attention. “Father arranged a marriage for me,” I confess, shuddering at the memory, still feeling Jacoamar’s hands and mouth on my flesh. “The man was... _unpleasant_ , to be polite, far older than me, older than my father I think, and he spoke of sharing me with his friends, after he’d had the first go, of course.” I pause, eyes flickering to Mando’s helmet when he lets out a short, angry noise. “I escaped four days before my wedding, never looked back. I don’t even know what they told people, but I’m sure they were very angry.”

“He really said he would – he would _do_ that? To the woman supposed to become his wife?” Mando demands and he sounds _angry_ , in a quiet way, the dangerous way.

“My mother was stolen from her home at the age of fourteen, forced to marry my father, solely because he thought her pretty,” I say and smile sadly at the thought of her, her golden hair and her big blue eyes and the sadness that never left her, not really. “Where I come from, girls aren’t people – they’re objects to be used and discarded as and when men feel like it.”

Gloved hands, strong and firm, suddenly grasp my face and force me to look directly into the visor of the helmet. “I will never, _ever_ let that happen to you,” Mando promises fiercely. Emotion clogs in my throat. “I’ll teach you how to use that blaster, _properly_ , and how to defend yourself, but no one – _no one_ – will ever touch you unless you wish it, not as long as you’re on this ship.”

“Guess I’m never leaving then,” I whisper and tremble slightly when I feel his helmet touch my forehead, the metal cool against my suddenly heated skin.

“The kid will like that,” he agrees and then, all at once, pulls away from me to continue bandaging my elbow.

I just watch him and struggle to make sense of what just happened, struggle to make sense of the heat lingering hotly in my cheeks and flushing down my neck.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything you recognise has been lifted from the transcript for the episode Chapter 7: The Reckoning, just with a few Yas touches.
> 
> Please comment if you enjoy, or if you don't.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Why does Mando consistently insist on going to planets full of _sand_? The sand is coarse and rough and sits in very uncomfortable places. At least the kid seems to enjoy waddling across the sand towards the pen holding the weirdest creatures I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot of weird in my travels. They look like giant fish with thick legs and then tiny little arms. Their sharp teeth and luminous, lamp like eyes are hardly comforting either. They seem gentle enough with the Ugnaught feeding them, but I don’t like the sight of them. A sense of unease settles in my blood and I pick the kid up, just in case those creatures think he looks appetising. Somehow, I doubt he’d more than a mouthful for them.

The Ugnaught approaches us, eyes flickering curiously over Cara, the kid, and I, and then wordlessly gestures for us to follow him into his little house. There’s something vaguely familiar about the Ugnaught, but there were many of his kind during the reign of the Empire and they worked for numerous families in Coruscant before the New Republic took over. Maybe that’s why he looks familiar, because of how many Ugnaughts passed through my life throughout the years without me ever really taking in their faces. I know how awful that sounds, but Mother had taught me to never grow used to the help and Father usually punished anyone that I or Mother seemed close to if we displeased him in any way, so it was better for everyone involved that I didn’t pay attention.

“It hasn’t grown much,” the Ugnaught says simply, eyeing the kid as he perches in his floating pod and stares at everything with his habitual curiosity, ears flapping slightly.

“I think it might be a strand-cast,” Mando answers simply and I frown over at him. He ignores it, obviously.

“I don’t think it was engineered,” the Ugnaught replies simply and pauses next to the little pod, peering down at the kid. I feel tense for some reason, wanting to grab the kid and hold him close. “I’ve worked in the gene farms – this one looks too evolved, too ugly,” he states. I frown, glaring sharply, insulted on the kid’s behalf, and stroke a soothing hand over the kid’s wrinkled brow. The Ugnaught wisely turns away, facing Cara instead. “This one, on the other hand, looks like she was made in the Cytocaves of Nora,” he adds, voice warming, while my own blood runs ice cold.

Shit.

_Shit_.

My _father_ ran the Cytocaves of Nora, often brought the workers to Coruscant, to our home, for updates on the work being done, so he wouldn’t have to travel.

“Please, Yas looks like she was made in a lab,” Cara laughs, though not unkindly, completely oblivious to my inner turmoil.

The Ugnaught’s eyes flicker to me and I notice that they’re green, a light green, like the trees in Naboo. “Yes, your companion is quite lovely,” he agrees simply and Cara laughs, while I manage a polite smile and swallow down the bitter bile in my throat.

“This is Cara Dune – she was a shock-trooper,” Mando introduces, gesturing to Cara. “This is Yas, and she knows a few things about Imperial troops.”

“Still wondering how,” Cara admits, but her grin is friendly and she nudges me.

Somehow, I manage to laugh and glance over at the Ugnaught, but he hasn’t said anything, not yet. “Secrets keep me warm, Cara,” I answer and comfort myself by letting the kid wrap a hand around my finger.

“You were a dropper, Miss Dune?” the Ugnaught asks, but I can feel his eyes flickering to me, like he knows me. If he worked in those cloning labs, he likely has, at least, seen me in passing when visiting my father.

Cara nods, grinning over at the Ugnaught. “Did you serve?”

“On the other side, I’m afraid,” he confesses. I stare at him, startled that he confessed the truth. Surely, _surely_ , he should be hiding that fact from a rebel fighter. I’d rather stab myself in the eyeball than tell Cara who my father is, which family I was born to. “But I’m proud to say, I paid out my clan’s debt and now serve no one but myself,” he states and his eyes fix on me, once more.

Before I can croak out something, force on a smile, make up a lie, because it’s true, all of it, an IG unit suddenly walks into the hut holding a tray bearing five, metal mugs. I don’t think much of it, until Mando and Cara launch themselves to their feet, blasters drawn. Fear launches my heart into my throat and, instinctively, without even thinking about it, my hands reach for the kid, to draw him close, to keep him safe. The kid, in turn, whines curiously at me and reaches his arms to me, but he does that all the time, so he might not realise the potential danger. I leave him where he is, heart thundering against my ribcage, and just lay a hand against his tiny torso, ready to push him down and close the pod over him for some form of protection.

Then, the IG unit speaks, “anyone care for some tea?” it offers and, frankly, it’s not what I expected from Mando’s and Cara’s reactions.

“Tea would actually be lovely,” I confess and stand, only to be yanked back into my seat by Mando, who plants himself in front of myself and the kid. “What’s wrong with tea?”

“For someone with incredible survival instincts, you’re really oblivious sometimes,” he snaps at me.

“That’s just _rude_ ,” I protest, insulted. “It’s offering _tea_ and, quite frankly, your selection of tea is lacklustre.”

“You think everything is lacklustre,” he mutters.

“Don’t start again,” Cara groans as my mouth flies open, ready with a biting retort. “What the hell is a hunter unit doing here?”

“Please, lower your blasters,” the Ugnaught implores, voice gentle and soft. His hands reach out, palms up in a universal sign of peace, to show he’s unarmed.

“That _thing_ is programmed to kill the baby,” Mando bites out through gritted teeth, tension gripping at every muscle in his body. At those words, I _do_ grab the kid, hugging him protectively against my chest and covering his tiny body completely with my hands.

“Not anymore,” the Ugnaught promises, but Mando and Cara don’t relax and I don’t let the baby go, my heart pounding painfully against my breastbone. “It was left behind in the wake of your destruction. I found it, laying where it fell, devoid of all life,” he continues, voice grave. It really doesn’t offer any comfort. “I recovered the flotsam and staked it as my own, in accordance with the Charter of the New Republic.

“Little remained of its neural harness; reconstruction was difficult, but not impossible, and it had to learn everything from scratch. This is something that cannot be taught with the twist of a spanner, it requires patience, repetition. I spent day after day reinforcing its development with patience and affirmation,” he pauses his tale and looks over at the droid, something like fondness in his face. “It developed a personality as its experiences grew.”

“Is it still after the baby?” I demand, voice sharp, like the edge of a knife slicing through the air.

“No,” the Ugnaught assures, gaze falling on me once more, lingering on the way I clutch the baby to my chest. “But it will protect.”

“Tea?” the droid offers again, proffering the tray.

Slowly, Mando and Cara lower their blasters and I hesitate, then slide the baby back into his pod and stand to approach the droid. Mando’s hand twitches towards me, fingers brushing over my still bandaged elbow, but he doesn’t stop me. I stop just in front of the IG unit and slide a metal mug from the tray, the mug warming my palms almost instantaneously. The tea does smell really good and the little lights on the droid’s head flash, as though pleased at my acceptance of its tea. Better to have it as an ally, I suppose, rather than an enemy. So, I take its tea and retake my seat to sip on the steaming liquid. It does taste good too. Maybe I can ask the Ugnaught to bring some onto the ship, though perhaps keeping my distance from him would be wise.

A small frown creases my face at the thought of the Ugnaught. What he said about buying his freedom is true. Father used to allow a few here and there to buy back their freedom after a ridiculous amount of time, sometimes they’d been there under the rule of my grandfather, or even my great-grandfather, as a way to persuade the others to behave, a sort of ‘look what you can get if you do what I say’. Also, if he worked in the Cytocaves of Nora, that was a place Father had a lot invested in, often lamenting or celebrating their progress. If that Ugnaught worked there, he met my father and, more than likely, he’d seen me, or perhaps my mother, and I look terribly like my mother, as I’ve often been told.

* * *

The blurrgs grunt at me every single time they see me, stamping their feet and blinking their giant, yellow eyes. They make me feel strangely uneasy and I snatch the kid away whenever he goes wandering over to them. He makes that frustrated noise he does, squealing a little, but I refuse to give in and pop him into his pod, distracting him with the silver ball I swiped from the cockpit when Mando was off doing Mando things. He hasn’t mentioned anything yet, but his head turns towards me when he sees me handing the silver ball to the kid. The kid coos happily, though, waving the ball around in his tiny little hand. It makes me smile as I curl into the chair next to him and pick up the sewing I recently started. It’s supposed to be a skirt.

This time, the kid doesn’t wave his hands at me and reach for the sewing in an indication he needs my attention, so my focus becomes fixed on the needle, thread, and fabric, while Mando and Cara start discussing arm wrestling, and the Ugnaught, Kuiil, tinkers not far from me, though I want to put distance between us. It’d be strange, though, if I isolated myself, especially from the kid, so I sit there, sewing in hand, and obligingly hold a hand out when the kid waves the silver ball at me. He gurgles happily, then slaps the ball into my hand and, immediately after, holds his hand back out for it. I hand it back over and, almost instantly, the kid repeats the gesture, nudging my fingers with the silver ball. It becomes a game between us, which distracts me from my work, but the kid’s happy little giggles and coos more than make up for it.

“It’s strange, seeing one such as you so far from the Core Planets,” Kuiil suddenly says quietly, too quietly to capture the others’ attention. Only the kid looks over at him as I do, the silver ball still in my fingertips. I don’t answer, just lift my eyes to him and swallow the bile spreading like oil over my tongue. “You look very much like your mother,” he tells me, soft, gentle, as he continues his tinkering and I struggle not to scream.

“I’ve been told,” I say simply, unable to say anything else.

“I won’t tell them what I know of you,” he assures me. I breathe a sigh of relief, a tension slipping away that I hadn’t realised I’d been holding onto. “You have made a new life, and no one should be able to take that from you.”

“Thank you.” It’s all I can say, unable to think of anything else, the words unwieldy and heavy against my tongue.

Kuiil nods and turns back to his tinkering, while I hold out the silver ball to the kid. Only, the kid doesn’t take the silver ball from me. Perhaps he’s too distracted by Mando and Cara baiting each other while they arm wrestle, like a pair of children. I roll my eyes at them, but there’s a smile tugging at my mouth and a strange sense of _warmth_ settled inside of me. This feels nice, being here like this, with people that aren’t using me for whatever they can get, that may actually like me (possibly, I mean, I know the kid likes me, and Cara’s chatty, but we’ve little in common, and Mando – who knows what goes on behind that helmet?). I know that we’re flying towards danger, especially for the kid, but I also know that Mando would do anything for the kid and I would too. It’s an odd feeling, but, as I tilt my head to watch the kid, it’s one I embrace. It brings me joy, happiness. Why shouldn’t I hold onto it?

All of that flies out of the ship when Cara suddenly begins choking, hands flying to her throat. My eyes widen, fixed on the kid, who has his tiny hand stretched out towards her. What the – no – it can’t be. But Cara’s still choking, while the kid obviously strains to continue what he’s doing. I should stop him. I need to stop him. I toss aside my work, hands lunging for the kid, but Mando gets there first, grabbing the kid and telling him to stop, telling him that Cara’s a friend. It works. Cara gasps in air. I continue staring, feeling the blood drain my face in horror, as memories of angry whispers a small child shouldn’t have overheard filter through my head.

“That is _not_ okay!” Cara splutters, still holding her throat.

“Very curious,” Kuiil murmurs.

_Curious_? It’s _dangerous_. No wonder the Empire want the kid.

“Curious?!” Cara echos furiously, fear staining her face, her words. “That thing almost killed me!”

Kuiil ignores her as he tilts his head to look at Mando, who still holds the baby firmly. “The story you told me of the mudhorn makes much more sense now,” the Ugnaught states calmly, hands folded behind his slightly bent back.

“You know what this is?” Mando demands, grabbing the kid’s arm when tiny, green, clawed hands begin reaching for me, no doubt for comfort after his scolding.

“What it is, I don’t know, but what it does, this – this I’ve heard rumours of,” Kuiil admits and his gaze, for a split second, flickers to me. He knows I have more answers, knows that I had an education no one else on this ship could have ever hoped for, knows I heard rumours from every corner of Coruscant and there’s no better place for information in the galaxy than Coruscant.

Cara scoffs, still angry, still afraid, and glares at him, brown eyes burning, with a sneer on her mouth. “What? When you were serving the Empire?”

“He had no choice,” I hear myself snap in defence of the Ugnaught. I don’t know why. I’ve been terrified he’s going to release my secrets since I realised, he knew who I was. “The people of Empire like to dangle freedom in front of their slaves, offer it to a few, usually those who have served for so long they’d only have a few years left to enjoy that freedom. It’s an incentive for the others, to show that there’s a reward at the end, provided they keep their masters happy.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about it? Funny how the only thing I know about you, is that I know _nothing_ about you,” Cara spits back at me. “What use are you in this fight? You’re only going to get everyone around you killed.”

“Enough.” It’s Mando, the command coming out sharp, a reprimand for whatever I’m about to throw at the former rebel. I scoff and turn my head away from his angry stare, arms folding defensively over my stomach, eyes determinedly _not_ watering. “Kuiil, I could really use your craftwork right now,” Mando says suddenly, diffusing the altercation, if a tad clumsily. “Can you pad this container so the kid can sleep better? Yas keeps saying he’ll break a bone in it.”

“He will, he’s tiny,” I mutter under my breath. The kid coos at me, arms waving towards me, and I take him as I stand and deliberately don’t look at anyone. “Come on, I think it’s time for bed, kiddo,” I sigh and force a smile when he pats my cheek, his brow furrowed.

“I shall fabricate a better one,” Kuiil says as I step past them and walk away, slipping by IG-11 without another word.

It takes who knows how long to settle the kid down for sleep. We go through four songs, numerous stories, a long time walking and gently rocking him back and forth, but, eventually, he falls asleep and I tuck him into my sleeping compartment. I perch on the edge of the bed, watching him, a frown on my face. Slowly, curiously, and carefully so as not to wake him, my finger strokes over one of his little claws from the hand he’d had outstretched to Cara while he choked her. My stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought, frown deepening. I know what that was. I know why the Empire wants him after that little display. I know what he has inside of him.

The Force.

No one should’ve spoke of it, but I grew up around the most powerful men in the Empire; they spoke openly around a small child that, surely, didn’t understand their talk, was only there to show how perfect Andosca Solvan’s family was, an ornament on display with perfect golden hair and perfect clothes and big blue eyes. They spoke of Darth Vader, of his fondness for using the Force to choke those that annoyed him. They spoke of the order that Vader destroyed, that Vader used to be a part of, called the Jedi and how they’d been peacekeepers of the galaxy. They laughed at how the Jedi had failed and then, usually, they’d mock them with a rousing, drunken, laughter filled toast of ‘ _may the Force be with you_ ’. It’s surprising how much a child can learn when no one expects them to be listening.

“You should rest too.” The familiar, modulated voice makes me jump, startled at the intrusion, as my head snaps around to focus on him. He’s stood a few feet away, gleaming and shiny in the dim lights. “We should arrive at Nevarro in a few hours.”

“He used the Force,” I say quietly and turn back to the baby, sleeping so peacefully, as though he’s not capable of terrible destruction. “That’s why they want him.”

“You know what he is?” Mando demands, striding closer, stopping directly in front of me, so I have to tilt my head back to look at his helmet. I suppose, really, I should feel intimidated, but I just feel tired. “You’ve seen people like him before?”

“No,” I deny with a small shake of my head, feeling exhausted, a headache thrumming behind my eyes. “I’ve heard stories.”

“What kind of stories?” the Mandalorian insists. “What is the Force?”

“I don’t know that, just what it can be used for,” I admit and push my hair behind my ear, sighing heavily. “Have you heard of the Jedi?” I ask him. He shakes his head, slowly, as though confused by the question. “From what I’ve heard, they used the Force, were Jedi because they could use it, but they weren’t restricted to one species, could be human or even Gungan, provided they could use the Force,” I explain what little I know, the bare basics. “But they were annihilated, the Empire destroyed them all just as it rose to power, from the younglings to the masters, because they were the only ones that could’ve stopped the Empire’s rise to power.”

“So, the kid – he could be a Jedi? Or have the potential to be a Jedi?” Mando asks. “Are there any Jedi left? Ones that could train him to use the Force?”

“The Jedi weren’t the only ones to use the Force, Mando, the Sith used it too, including Darth Vader,” I say quietly and, immediately, it’s as though all the air’s been sucked from the room. He goes tense, rigid. “I think – I think it depends on how they’re trained, or something, I don’t know, only what I heard from those ridiculous dinner parties Father made me go to,” I babble, agitated and annoyed I don’t have any more information. “They used to talk about it, about the fall of the Jedi, about Vader and Palpatine, but never any details, and I never cared to look more into it before – it wasn’t important then.”

A gloved hand drops onto my shoulder, halting my frustration, even briefly, as my eyes rise to the helmet of the Mandalorian. “We know more now than did before,” he says simply. I huff out a short laugh and ignore the sheen of moisture in my eyes. “We also know where to start looking for more information when we’ve taken care of the Client on Nevarro.”

“I can’t go back, Mando, not to Coruscant,” I whisper, shaking my head. “They’ll find me the second I step on a Core Planet – I know they will.”

“There are other plants that’ll know about Jedi,” he shrugs, careless, like never going to a Core Planet is so simple, so easy. “Your father – he must’ve been a powerful man if you heard so much,” he states and I tense, realising my slip, how much I’ve revealed. “Kuiil knows you too; I saw how you avoided him.”

“Mando, I...” I don’t know what I’m going to say, if I’m going to beg him to let me stay, not to toss me to the Empire like I probably deserve, so I let my voice trail off and let my head fall, hair creating a shield to hide behind.

“I just need to know if taking you with us is putting us, especially the kid, in more danger,” he says it so calmly, rationally, as though tossing me back into the jaws of the Empire doesn’t even occur to him. “If you’re a target too, even with your knowledge of Imperial forces, you’d be in danger.”

I swallow thickly around the lump in my throat, heart about to burst free from my ribs. “It depends on which Imperial commander is on Nevarro,” I confess, drawing all my years of experience dealing with the egotistical men that ruled the galaxy until recent years. “If it’s someone close to my father, they’ll take me back to him for the praise and the reward, but, if it’s a rival, they’ll use me against him, try to pry his secrets from me, keep me prisoner for a while until Father realises, he can’t deal with the humiliation and takes me back to punish me accordingly.” My voice is bitter, angry, biting. “If your contact on Nevarro has a name, I’ll be able to come up with a plan to deal with him.”

“And if it’s a woman?”

The laugh that escapes me can’t be contained, bursting free from my throat in a rush and spilling into the air. “The Empire doesn’t allow female officers of rank,” I assure him. “If they did, the rebels never would’ve won the war.”

Surprisingly, a short laugh filters through the helmet. “I’ll take your word for that,” he allows and a small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I glance up at him. “What’s your plan, Yas? To get into this guy’s head?”

“If he’s as powerful as he’s making out, he’ll know me and he’ll do one of two things,” I begin, feeling more confident now, as I settle into something familiar – planning the downfall of my enemies. “If he’s a sycophant of my father’s, he’ll believe a tale of me being kidnapped, or tricked into leaving Coruscant, so he’ll tell me whatever I want to hear so that I’ll tell my father how helpful he was,” I explain and settle more comfortably against the wall, eyes drifting to the baby when he lets out a particularly loud snore. It makes me smile slightly. “If he’s a rival, or just doesn’t like my father, he’ll take me captive and do whatever they can to anger my father, but, still, he’ll be careful because Father’s rage is...” I stop and give a small shudder. It’d never been directed at me. Mother taught me young and taught me quickly, but I’d witnessed that rage directed at others, including Mother, including my brother. “We went through servers very quickly.”

“Your father – you said he never hit you,” Mando says slowly and I nod.

“No, he didn’t,” I assure and sigh heavily, frowning. “Mother taught me how to avoid it, his rage, and, even if I did ever make him angry, he couldn’t damage my face – it’s the only worthwhile thing about me, after all,” I shrug with a wry smile, watching the kid rather than Mando. “He used to hurt anyone he thought I was close to, serving girls that would do my hair, help me dress, put my cosmetics on, and he would whip them, beat them, whatever he thought would drive the message home, so I stopped talking to them, stopped learning their names even.”

“Sounds lonely,” Mando acknowledges and, somehow, his flat statement, modulated through the helmet, stings far worse than any other insult thrown my way. “No wonder you ran away.”

A small laugh leaves me, more surprised than truly amused, as my eyes flicker up to him and find him leaning back against the wall, arms folded over his armoured chest. “No wonder,” I agree softly, tucking my hair behind my ear and curling one knee up towards my chest. “Am I allowed to ask how you became a Mandalorian?” I ask quietly. “I feel like I end up spilling my guts to you, but I don’t know anything about you.”

“I was a foundling,” Mando admits and he sounds vaguely uncomfortable, strained, but he answers me. “Raised to follow the Creed.”

“From what I’ve heard, the Mandalorians take care of their own,” I murmur. “Must be nice.”

“You and the kid – I’ll protect you both,” he states and sounds firmer, stronger, in that promise than revealing the tiniest portion of himself. Really, I just have more questions after discovering he was a foundling, rather than being born to the order.

“Does that make us honorary Mandalorians?” I smile up at him, teasing, and earn myself a snort. “I’ll be Mando Two and the kid can be Mando Three,” I add and laugh at the predictable, loud sigh that comes from beneath the helmet, vaguely distorted through the modulator. “The Mando Trio.”

“You wouldn’t survive a day of training to become a Mandalorian,” he promises. I scoff, insulted. “You’d have to cut off all your hair to fit it under the helmet,” he tells me bluntly and I am not proud of the way I grab at my long hair with a gasp, but it happens. I get a feeling he’s grinning beneath his helmet, amused at my horror. “No more of those dresses, either, completely impractical.”

“Fine, I wouldn’t be a good Mandalorian,” I relent, pouting slightly, and resist the urge to kick him when he gives a small chuckle. “Kid wouldn’t either, though,” I state. “Couldn’t fit those ears into a helmet.”

Another sound, this one aborted, but definitely a laugh at my ridiculous joke, his helmeted head tilting downwards and shaking back and forth slightly. “No,” he agrees, “we really couldn’t.”

I find myself grinning up at him, amusement chasing the lingering solemnity away, laughter bubbling through my blood like those bubbles found in fizzy drinks. I’m smiling like an utter fool at this armoured man, whose face I have never seen and will never see, but he’s kind and he doesn’t judge me and he listens when I talk. It’s so strange to have someone, especially a man, listen when I speak. He pays attention. It’s exhilarating to be listened to, with his full focus on me, eyes fixed on me through his helmet. I can always feel his stare. It sinks into my skin like something physical, a physical touch pressed into my flesh. I feel it now, as his head tilts towards me. It’s not unpleasant, though before, I’d always hated men watching me, devouring me with their gaze, lingering on the parts they wanted to keep for themselves. It’s not like that with Mando. I don’t know what he thinks when he looks at me, but I know it’s not like the other men.

“Mando,” I say, when he straightens and takes a step towards the ladder to the cockpit. He stops, head turning to show he’s listening to me. “My name’s Yasinda.”

There’s a beat of silence, only my heart thundering against my chest, so loud he must hear it. “Din,” he says after a few more moments, voice so quiet I barely hear it. “My name is Din.”

Warmth floods at me this concession, this small sliver of him, his trust. No one’s ever trusted me before. Before I can say anything, though, he continues to the cockpit, disappearing up the ladder before I can even construct a thought, but it’s okay. He gave me something of him, just as I gave him something of me, a mutual exchange. Perhaps he’ll never find out which Yasinda I am from Coruscant, but, equally, I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for any answers. It’s not why we did it. I told him my name because, maybe, if I’m about to die wandering into an Imperial camp, I want someone to know my name. The name Solvan doesn’t belong to me, never has, but Yasinda is mine, gifted to me by my mother, and I want him to know it. Perhaps it’s the same for him. Now, if only we knew the kid’s name.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with the previous chapter, any dialogue recognised is lifted from the show. Again, if you like it, if you don't, please, please, please, comment to let me know what you're enjoying, or what I might improve on.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

“I’m sorry, is she seriously changing her outfit for this?”

“Cara, I’ve given up arguing with her on the best time for a wardrobe change.”

“Isn’t your contact literally waiting right outside the ship?”

“Maybe she’s trying to psych him out, make him wait, play the long game.”

“Or she just takes a really long time to get ready?”

“Perfection takes time,” I snap as I step out of the refresher, tying off the end of my plait and glaring at them. “Isn’t that right, baby?” I coo when the kid immediately waddles over and coos at me. “That’s right, time and effort,” I agree and crouch to pick him up.

“Can we go now?” Mando sighs and takes the kid from me. I begin to protest, but he places the kid in the newly created floating pod and closes the top. “The blurrgs are getting impatient,” he adds to me, sounding impatient himself.

I eye the creatures warily, hands falling to my hips. “I think I’ll walk.”

“You can ride with me,” Mando decides and grabs my arm to drag me over before I can protest. “They can hold the weight, right?” he throws at Kuiil, who eyes the way I’m shaking my head behind Mando’s back and then the way Mando stares at him demandingly.

“Theoretically,” he allows.

“Kuiil,” I hiss, betrayed. “I’m not getting on that thing.”

Mando completely ignores my protests. He grabs me by the waist, ignoring my yelp, and lifts me easily, as though I weigh no more than the kid. It takes the breath out of me as he sits me, side saddle, on the blurrg. He did it so easily, effortlessly. Just how strong is he? I’ve seen him fight, but that was entirely different. I determinedly ignore the heat that sweeps through me as I sling one leg onto the other side of the blurrg, gritting my teeth when it shifts beneath me. It’s the most unsettling feeling. My fingers grab onto the front of the saddle, but Mando pushes my hands aside and then smoothly mounts the blurrg in front of me, landing incredibly close to my chest, not that there’s much room on this thing. The smell of him floods my nostrils, soap and metal and faint traces of smoke. I should _not_ notice that.

Still, when the blurrg rocks forward, my arms coil around his waist without my say so. The blurrg is narrow, its spine rigid and uncomfortable as it digs between my legs, and rocks back and forth as it walks. Mando, somehow, holds his position, but I’m rocked straight into his back and cling to him to stop myself from moving, head tucked against the back of his shoulder, hands locked around his waist. He doesn’t push me away, maybe because I let out a small sound of discomfort (not fear, I’m not afraid of riding a _blurrg_ , of all things) as we start down the ramp out of the ship. Why did Mando think this was a good idea? He didn’t even _want_ to bring the blurrgs aboard.

There are three people waiting when the blurrgs come to a stop just off the ship and I lift my head to look over Mando’s shoulder. The man in the middle is obviously in charge, dark skinned with hair cut close to his head, a short beard on his jaw, and a smile on his face I see through with ease. The entire thing makes my skin crawl and my hand itches to leave Mando’s waist and grab the blaster I strapped to my thigh. It’s the one Sakue gave me, the one I killed the bounty hunter with the first time I met Mando, and the one I used to destroy the droid that came after the baby during that prison ship job. It’s come in handy, especially since meeting Mando.

“Sorry for the remote rendezvous, Mando, but things have gotten complicated since you were last here,” the leader says, voice cheery despite the conversation. I dislike him already. “It seems we’ve both provided a security detail, though I can see, maybe, you’ve brought one for comfort rather than protection,” he laughs, eyes on me, and I feel Mando tense beneath my hands.

“She has information about Imperial command that may come in handy,” he says, voice flat, as though he’s not bothered, but I can feel his tension. “She’s coming with us.”

“Then, at least, I suggest the shock-trooper guards the ship; these lava fields are lousy with Jawas,” the man continues, waving a hand towards Cara, who snorts softly and sneers in response.

“She’s coming with us,” Mando insists, voice as flat as it was when he defended my presence here.

“Fine, fine, but at least cover your tattoo – no need to flaunt it,” the man sighs, holding his hands up and shaking his head. “Now, where’s the little one?”

My heart lurches as Mando presses something on his vambrace and the new pod floats forward, lid opening, to reveal the kid. The man moves towards the kid, whose head lifts curiously at this stranger. My fingers dig into Mando’s waist, clawing ineffectually at his beskar armour, as the man reaches for the kid – _my_ kid – and lifts him. I jerk, but Mando’s hand suddenly grabs my thigh, squeezing warningly, ordering me wordlessly to stay where I am. Every single part of me screams to launch myself down there, to snatch the kid from this man’s arms and carry him back on board the Crest, where I’d demand Mando take us somewhere warm and nice and distinctly not sandy. I have no idea how, but I stay put, fingers digging into his armour, hurting really, as I stare down at them and silently send death threats to the presumptuous man.

“So, this is the little bogwing that all the fuss was about,” the man laughs, bouncing the kid in his arms. My teeth grind together, body as tense as Mando’s is beneath my hands, against me, while my breath comes in short spurts and my heart pounds so hard Mando must be able to feel it. “What a precious little creature – I can see why you didn’t want to harm a hair on its wrinkled little head,” the man chuckles and, finally, puts the kid back down, but I still can’t bring myself to relax. Neither can Mando, if the bruising grip he has on my thigh is anything to go by. “Well, I’m glad this matter will be settled once for and all.”

Slowly, Mando’s fingers uncurl from around my thigh. He presses another button on his vambrace and the little pod retreats behind the blurrgs once more. _That’s_ when I relax a little, breathing out a slow breath and relaxing my fingers against Mando’s waist. Now, it takes all my restraint not to press my forehead against his shoulder and regain control over my thundering heart. Instead, I glare out at the bounty hunters before me as the leader says something about camping out overnight. _Camping?_ I don’t _do_ camping. I certainly did not pack for camping. I haven’t even brought a change of clothes. Did they know about this? Did they neglect to tell me? A glare over at Cara’s amused face tells me that, yes, they did.

“Mando said you would’ve packed too much,” Cara grins at me when we’re moving, the blurrgs doing their uncomfortable rocking motion beneath us.

“Did he?” I ask darkly and glare at the back of the man’s helmet. “You just didn’t want me to bring my book.”

“I didn’t want to cart half your wardrobe across Nevarro in case you decided you needed an outfit change,” Mando mutters in return. I gasp, insulted, and stare incredulously at him, mouth forming into a pout. “And the kid forced me to pack the book,” he adds reluctantly and sighs when I laugh triumphantly. “You need to stop reading him that garbage.”

“Find him some books on military strategy and war and I’ll read him that instead,” I drawl sarcastically with a roll of my eyes.

“I’m holding you to that,” Mando rumbles in return and I glare mulishly at him, while Cara and Kuiil laugh either side of us.

We travel for hours, the ones walking forcibly laughing and joking with no sincerity behind it. This is all a big act, an attempt to put us at ease, catch us off guard. It’s easy to see through. They keep glancing back at us and the two associates don’t even attempt to hide their greed as their eyes linger on Mando, then on the kid. We should just shoot them now, save time and trouble, and continue on without them. We only need the leader, don’t we? I suppose it would be difficult to persuade him to stick to the plan if we shoot his men down. Speaking of which, what is the plan? I know I’m supposed to work out the Imperial’s secrets, but I haven’t even been told the man’s name yet.

“Mando,” I whisper and tug on the bottom of the armour across his front to get his attention. He grunts quietly, the only acknowledgement of my need for attention. “What exactly is the plan? Just waltz in and kill people?”

“Yes,” he answers simply. I frown at the back of his head. “Karga will tell us who the Client is and then you can tell us the best way to neutralise them with the least amount of risk to us.”

“That – that’s _it_?” I hiss in disbelief. “Aren’t you supposed to be the best bounty hunter in the galaxy or something?”

“Yeah, because I shoot first,” Mando answers bluntly and I struggle to find something to say to that, because the _arrogance_. “Unless you can somehow negotiate a bloodless resolution,” he adds and the dryness to his voice suggests that, maybe, he’s being sarcastic.

“I don’t appreciate your tone,” I inform him archly, then promptly yelp and tighten my arms around him when the blurrg stumbles over something. Maker-be-damned blurrgs! “And the Empire doesn’t do bloodless, Mando, as we both know,” I add irritably. “Best you’d be able to do would be to negotiate in services, then they’d kill some underlings as an example and expect you to serve them forever more.”

“What are you two whispering about?” the leader – Karga – calls up to us. “If it’s suitable for public domain,” he adds with a laugh that makes me roll my eyes.

“The plan,” Mando answers shortly. “What’s the name of the Imp?”

“Don’t know,” Karga shrugs carelessly, like it doesn’t matter.

It does matter, but the fact that no name was given actually offers some information. Many commanders don’t like their names on the particularly dirty jobs. This one, the kidnapping of a kid for whatever they have planned, is dirty. I mean, some would leave their names on it, uncaring of the consequences, because of the power they wield. Those men are usually ones new to power, wanting to flaunt it around. Father always said those that truly held power didn’t need to show it off, because people _knew_ , and they only had to exert it when necessary. The fact that this man hasn’t supplied a name says he’s of old power, probably ruling through the Empire’s reign over the galaxy, and in a higher position. It means he has the manpower to do whatever he wants.

“How many troops does he have?” I ask, glancing down at the man, who’s watching me curiously now, eyes sharp, almost like he recognises me, but I know for certain I’ve never met this man in my life.

“Four,” Karga shrugs.

“ _Four_? Yet, somehow, he rules your town full of bounty hunters?” I ask in disbelief. Mando sighs at the obvious insult on the three hunters’ faces. “I just mean that men of command in the Empire don’t travel the galaxy with _four_ stormtroopers,” I say quickly and a slight frown creases my face as I concentrate and struggle to remember protocols for travelling. I never went, was never allowed, but how many times did I witness Father preparing for a trip? “He has to have, at least, a platoon, else he’d never feel as confident as he must to make such demands.”

“How many in a platoon?” Cara questions, wary.

That makes me frown, fingers absently tapping as I struggle to remember the lessons Father forced on me for the sole purpose of humiliating my brother. “Twenty-five,” I answer confidently.

I remember standing in Father’s study, my brother looming next to me, skinny and lanky and twice my height, and reciting off the squads and numbers in platoons. I remember my brother growing red with humiliation as Father scolded him and asked why a girl of six knew these things better than him. It’s not a pleasant memory now, but, at the time, I’d glowed beneath Father’s rare praise and the way he handed me a honeyed sweet. He then sent me away. My brother left that room with a black eye and a bleeding nose and a resentment for me that he held onto until the day he died.

“At least, there used to be, when the Empire was at its strongest,” I continue, shaking away the memory. “Now that they’re mercenaries, they’re a little harder to pull together without the knowledge of the New Republic, so it may be less, but they may also be specialised troops.”

“Specialised?” one of the hunters questions, wary.

“Incendiary troopers, or even death troopers,” I answer dismissively. “They wear different armour – they’ll need to be put down quickly, or the fight will be even harder.”

“What, in the name of the Maker, are death troopers?” Cara demands, looking mildly disturbed.

“They served Imperial Intelligence during the reign of the Empire, under Grand Admiral Thrawn and Director Krennic, trained to be killing machines, essentially,” I reply with a shrug. “They wear black armour.”

“That’s so comforting,” Cara mutters and scowls when I snort out a laugh. “Aren’t you afraid of these things?”

“No, no trooper would _dare_ lay hands on me,” I say confidently. Mando twitches slightly against me, obviously not pleased with my confidence in that. “They’re not high enough up the Imperial food chain.”

“You are one weird girl,” Cara chuckles with a small shake of her head. “Every time I think I’ve got something about you figured out, you throw something else in and I’m wondering how the hell you’re still alive.”

“Have you seen my face?” I smirk and bat my eyelashes at her, which earns another, louder laugh from her. “You and me, Cara, we’d be unstoppable together.”

“That I don’t doubt,” Cara cackles delightedly and reaches a fist over towards me.

I hesitate, just for a second, then cautiously reach out, tightening the arm around Mando when I rock dangerously, and thump my knuckles against hers. A slight grin forms at her amused laughter, while I hastily wind my arm back around Mando’s waist and breathe a little easier when I’m safely anchored once more. I’m not enjoying this new experience of blurrg riding. It’s not something I’m going to repeat, even if Mando deems it necessary. I’ll plant my backside on the Crest and refuse to move, wave him goodbye, and wish him the best of luck, but I’m not going, ever, thank you very much.

The blurrg stumbles again. I muffle my yelp in Mando’s back and grumble darkly about the weird creatures. I feel Mando sigh, especially when I tighten my arms around his middle even further. It’s entirely possible that I’m restricting his breathing, but, right now, all I care about is not falling off of this Maker-damned thing. However, I do suppose that if I restrict his breathing enough, he will pass out and he will take me off of this blurrg with him. That thought does have me loosening my grip around his middle, just a little, fingers still wrapped tightly around opposing wrists to keep me locked around him. Stupid blurrg.

Hours pass and, by the time we finally stop and dismount the damned blurrgs, my whole body is cramped and uncomfortable and stiff. I grab onto Mando’s proffered arm to balance myself as I awkwardly drop myself down to the ground. My legs threaten to give out, but sheer stubbornness keeps me upright as Mando easily dismounts and lands next to me, all graceful and irritating in that grace. I mutter under my breath as I attempt to walk on shaky legs, but the kid makes that decision for me by waddling over to me, somehow free of his floating pod, and holds his arms up with a demanding whine.

“Hey, baby,” I greet and, somehow, on trembling legs, drop down to gather him into my arms. I drop a kiss on the top of his head and pull a chewstick from my bag, which has been stuffed into the saddlebag carelessly. “I packed your favourites, since Mando probably just packed protein bars,” I tell him as he squeals his delight and grabs the chewstick, immediately stuffing it into his tiny mouth.

“You feed him too much,” Mando sighs from behind me and rubs a gloved hand over the kid’s head. The kid coos happily around his chewstick at the attention. “You spoil him.”

“I do not,” I protest. He doesn’t get anywhere near as much stuff as I did when I was a kid. I literally had everything handed to me before I even had to ask for it. “There’s nothing wrong with doing what makes you happy,” I inform Mando, attempting to be stern, but I can’t help my smile when the kid grabs my plait and sinks his tiny claws into the twists of hair. “And the kid gets his happiness eating.”

“And you reading to him, or singing to him, or carrying him around everywhere, or letting him sleep on you wherever he wants,” Mando replies flatly. I glare at him, bottom lip poking out slightly in a pout. “You spoil him.”

“He’s a baby,” I reason. “Those are normal things to do for a baby.”

“How many babies have you raised?”

“How many have you raised?”

He doesn’t respond to that, so I take that one as a win, grinning triumphantly at him and spinning away to the fire the others are building. The kid coos again, waving a hand over at Mando over my shoulder, which only makes it even better. I hum at him proudly and laugh brightly when he reaches out and pats my mouth demandingly. That means one of two things, either he wants a story or he wants a song. Usually, he likes a song to go to sleep to, so it’s probably a story. That means I’ll have to go searching to find out where Mando put it, but it’s probably best not to push him when I’ve won the previous debate. I’ll get the book later, when he’s finished doing whatever it is, he’s doing by the blurrgs.

“You and Mando seem close,” Karga says to me as I sit against a large stone and offer the baby another chewstick.

I look up at him, any smile I’d worn for the kid gone and replaced by a cool expression. “Do we?” I respond, uninterested, and bounce the kid to distract him from his now vocal demands for what he wants.

“Never seen him with any woman, especially not one like you,” Karga laughs and sits next to me. The kid looks at me for my reaction and then mirrors my blank expression as he turns his big, dark eyes to the man.

“A woman like me?” I repeat dully. “And what sort of woman do you believe me to be?”

“Not one that hangs around with Mandalorians,” Karga grins, utterly unconcerned with the unimpressed, uninterested way I stare at him.

“Your ability to know a person without ever holding a conversation is, honestly, truly remarkable,” I drawl sarcastically and the kid gurgles out a giggle at my obvious irritation. “You could make millions off of a talent like that.”

He booms out a laugh that I don’t share as I watch him throw his head back and guffaw, as though I’ve just told the funniest joke in the whole damned galaxy. “I never thought I’d see the day when Mando let a woman hold onto him the way you did,” he continues. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Didn’t know Mando knew women existed, unless he had to pull one in on a bounty.”

“Do you often think about what your hunters get up to in their private lives?” I question, one eyebrow arching slightly, though I deliberately don’t give him an answer either way to what he wants to know. Let him assume what he wants about us. More rumours offer more of a smokescreen to hide behind. “Or is Mando a _special_ case? Are you _particularly_ curious about his... _preferences_?” I continue and watch the smile falter on Karga’s face as he splutters incoherently for a few moments.

“So, you two are...?” he trails off, gesturing between the two of us. Mando’s off with Cara and Kuiil, unloading the blurrgs.

“What?” I press, mostly just to see him squirm. It’s more than obvious what he’s implying, but I want to hear him say it, for the sole purpose of making him uncomfortable for even bringing this conversation into being.

“Does he...?” Karga trails off, waggling his eyebrows at me meaningfully. I stare back at him blankly. The kid does the same in my lap. He’s getting very good at it. I’ll have to train him to the sigh and eye roll next, to really put people down. “Have you ever...?” Again, he trails off with a more exaggerated eyebrow waggle.

“Maybe you should try using words,” I suggest dully. “I don’t speak eyebrow.”

He chokes, on a laugh I think, but I’m not really sure. “Have you been travelling with Mando for long?”

“He’s really bad at finding planets I like,” I shrug dismissively and the baby whines, like he always does when me leaving the ship comes up. It hasn’t happened in a few weeks now, at least. “There’s always sand and we don’t like sand, do we, kiddo?” I croon and the kid giggles and grabs my hair again, stood on my burning thighs. I lift him against my chest, mostly to ease the burn in my thighs. Ugh, never blurrg riding again. He giggles and pats his tiny hands against my cheeks. “I don’t have my book, kiddo, it’s in one of the bags, but we’ll get it soon, okay? And then we can find out what happens with the princess and the crime lord,” I promise and he whines, but curls beneath my chin and his big ears twitch. “And, Karga,” I add and flick a glance at the man, “Mando isn’t fond of personal questions, so I’d suggest keeping your mouth shut about whatever situation is happening here,” I advise, voice friendly and bright, which makes the kid giggle. “Otherwise he’ll probably spread your brains over this ashy wasteland.”

“Uh, yeah, got it,” Karga nods, sounding distinctly uncomfortable now. “Where are you from, exactly?”

“Nowhere you’ve probably been,” I answer and glance up when Mando approaches, my bag gripped in his fist. He thrusts it towards me and the kid squeaks his happiness, wiggling in my arms. “Thank you, Mando,” I nod as I take the bag from him, and, somehow, it’s become easier to thank him, though I struggle with everyone else.

“No more chewsticks,” Mando commands. The kid gives him the eyes, bottom lip protruding. “And stop teaching him to make those faces,” he adds gruffly with a sigh.

“It’s not my fault he copies me,” I smile proudly and earn myself a coo from the kid. “Obviously he thinks I’m very influential.”

“Or maybe it’s because you always get your own way,” Mando mutters, walking away before I can retort. That’s not fair. That’s what _I_ do.

“Not always,” I mutter mulishly, resting my chin on the kid’s head and taking his tiny hands when he reaches into the bag. “No, baby, that’s rude, you don’t go through other people’s things,” I scold him sternly. He blinks, startled at the sharp tone, and pulls the eyes and the lip on me. “Kid, that doesn’t work on me,” I tell him and stroke a thumb over his ear, smiling fondly. “And, if you keep looking at me like that, I won’t tell you when it’s an appropriate time to go through someone’s things,” I add and, immediately, interest fills his face. “So, if you need information and someone’s being a bit stubborn, or if you think they’re plotting against you, you can subtly go through their things, but only if you’re sure that you’ll be able to make sure no one will know what you’ve done,” I lecture him and he nods, as though he understands every word.

He promptly dives headfirst into my bag.

“Mando said no more chewsticks.”

A coo is my only response.

“You’re right, since when do we listen to Mando?”

Mando glares at me from where’s helping set up the fire.

“When our lives are in the balance, correct. Well done, kiddo.”

Cara cackles delightedly, while Mando sighs and I grin down at the kid’s happy coo. Surprisingly, the kid only emerges with one chewstick clamped between his teeth, but with the book in his tiny little hands. A faint smile pulls at my mouth, especially as he waves it at me and almost drops the thing. So much for the Force. I catch the book in one hand and hook the other arm around him to settle him comfortably, his back rested against my stomach, head pillowed on my chest. It’s the position he almost always settles into, with me or with Mando. He likes to see everything, likes to examine the world, which is a good thing, because he it means he sees everything. I just need to teach him what it all means, but that’ll come with time.

* * *

By the time the night has truly set in, the fire lit from the pools of lava dotted around, a carcass of something over said fire, I’ve managed to find a comfortable position against my stone, while the kid’s been put back in his pod after a story (everyone listened far too closely at the romance story, despite Mando’s loud sighs) and Mando sits next to me. Cara sits on my other side, while Kuiil has taken up a seat by the blurrgs, which are tethered tightly and safely for the night. I keep my distance from the things, sending them a mulish look, but swiftly focus on my sewing again when Mando’s head turns towards me. He cannot know that I hate the blurrgs as much as I do. I’ll never hear the end of it. I’ll be making a perfectly rational argument about something and he’ll just slip in a sly comment about a blurrg. After all, it’s what I’d do.

A yawn pulls out of me before I can stop it, eyes itching slightly, but I refuse to sleep on this ground with its ash and its hard planes and its just general unpleasantness. How could anyone set up a home on this planet? My nose wrinkles at the mere thought of spending more than one night here, fingers stabbing perhaps a little harsher than necessary at the fabric. Thankfully, it doesn’t tear beneath the rough treatment, sturdy, but still pretty. Probably best for my travels across the galaxy with Mando and the kid. I’m still trying to make that skirt, but it’s only been about two days since I started and it’s not too bad, though I’ve had to unpick the stitching a few times to make the hems straight, but it’s coming together nicely, I think.

“Guess the little bugger’s a carnivore,” Karga suddenly laughs. I grit my teeth at the interruption to my concentration and glance at him to find his attention on the kid, who’s happily munching away on whatever meat’s roasting. I roll my eyes and adjust my seat, body aching, as I continue working. “Never seen anything like it,” the man continues with a chuckle, oblivious to my irritation. “They were ready to pay a king’s ransom for that thing – must be for some kind of highfalutin menagerie.”

My head snaps up, mouth opening to release a blistering tirade, but a gloved hand lands on my knee and Mando’s voice speaks instead, flat and bored sounding, “let’s go over the plan again.”

“We both enter the common house, we show the client the bait, we join him at the table, and you kill him,” Karga shrugs, like it’s that simple, like the Empire will let it be that simple. Of course, it’s probably a trap, so no wonder the plan’s shit.

“Tell me about his reinforcements,” Mando instructs, hand still against my knee, squeezing warningly when I open my mouth to make a sarcastic comment.

“They’re all ex-Empire,” Karga shrugs dismissively. Shit. That means they’re eager to prove themselves. “As soon as they lose their paycheque, psh...they’ll all scatter.”

That’s completely incorrect. Stormtroopers were raised from birth to _be_ stormtroopers. It’s ingrained into their very being. There were few defectors. There were few that would dare to disobey the chain of command, even in the face of their commanding officer’s death. They’d follow the last orders until a new commanding officer stepped in. That’s just what they do. It’s the way of the stormtroopers. They don’t know of any other way to be, any other way to exist, and it’s terribly sad, but that’s life. Life is a terrible thing and it’s simply a matter of finding the things that make it into something worthwhile.

“And what if they don’t?” Mando asks, a hint of disbelief in his tone through his modulator, and I can feel his gaze on me. Obviously, he sees my complete lack of belief in anything that comes out of Karga’s lying mouth.

“They will.” The confidence there is so ridiculous I want to punch Karga, and I don’t punch people. It hurts and I could do damage to my hands. Mando wears gloves. Plus, he’s far better at punching people.

“That’s not good enough,” I snarl, ignoring the way Mando’s fingers bite into my knee warningly.

“I don’t think military strategy is really your forte, sweetheart,” Karga informs me patronisingly with a laugh he shares with his bounty hunters.

Pure rage burns white hot in my blood, sinking into the very marrow of my bones. This feeling, however, being dismissed because of my gender, because of the way I look, is nothing new to me. So, I know how to keep my face clear of emotion, even as I feel Mando’s fingers squeeze against my knee, though, somehow, I know it’s not a warning to me now, not a way to keep my mouth shut. He feels angry beside me, tense and rigid. The air crackles with the tension of it. It brings my gaze to him, rather than to Karga. His other hand is rested on his blaster against his thigh, helmet turned towards Karga instead of me.

Before anyone can say anything, before Mando can do something particularly stupid, a fucking winged demon from a nightmare lunges from the shadows. A scream tears out of my throat, pain shooting through my palm, eyes fixed on the winged demon. Suddenly, as suddenly as the thing appeared, I’m shoved into the ash, a metal clad body completely covering my unarmoured one. My hands grab onto Mando selfishly, clinging to him as that thing swoops past us to the meat over the fire, another lunging for the blurrgs. Oh. No. Kuiil will be devastated. I hate the things, but they’re Kuiil’s, possibly the first things that were his after his indentured servitude.

Wait.

The kid.

Where’s _the kid_?!

I surge upwards, but Mando easily holds me place with his body, arm curling over my head to protect me from the claws that come at us outstretched. Another scream leaves me, body instinctively curling beneath his beskar, hearing the claws _ding_ off of it. Somewhere, I can hear Kuiil shouting, can hear blasters firing, but, most of all, I can hear Mando’s heavy breathing above me, helmeted head bent close to my far more vulnerable one. I can’t hear the kid. I can’t hear him. Normally, he’d be whining at the threat, possibly even wailing, but there’s no sound and I can’t see past Mando’s shiny beskar, the fire’s reflection flickering against it.

Then, all at once, horrifyingly, Mando’s dragged off of me.

This time, the scream isn’t for me. Uselessly, with weak and shaking hands, I try to grab him, but he’s wrenched away from me, dangling from the claws of the nightmare creature. _No_. Not Mando. They can’t take Mando. Not _Din_. I don’t know why his name comes to me then, offered so quietly just a few hours ago aboard the Crest, but it does and I haven’t even said it aloud. He is _not_ allowed to die on me, not here, not on this useless backwater people only live on because they have no other choice.

No, no, _no_!

“Give him _back_!” I command, as though the demon is one of my old servants that would never dare to disobey me, but, well, it’s not.

It doesn’t even look at me as I drag myself to my feet and glare at it furiously, shaking in terror and _rage_. The rage burns even hotter now than it did when Karga insulted me. All for that idiot Mandalorian. So, in that rage, I throw my shoe at the nightmare beast. It clonks against the creature’s skull, which draws its attention back to me. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Kriff,” I mutter, suddenly frozen in place, barely able to breathe, lungs tight, legs shaking so much they feel like that dehydrated gloop Mando tries to feed me and the kid.

I stagger back a step and end up on my backside after tripping over a rock, like an idiot. A whimper chokes out of me as the thing flies at me, claws extended.

This is it.

I’m going to die because I threw a _shoe_ at a fucking winged demon thing. I can’t even _scream_. It’s lodged in my throat. I can’t move.

I can just _watch_ , as my death lunges towards me. It’s almost like it’s happening in slow motion, just to drag the whole thing out, to delay the inevitable. I’d heard that your life flashes before your eyes, but that doesn’t happen for me. I just see that damned thing coming at me, ready to eat me.

Suddenly, a figure in silver beskar lands between me and my inevitable doom, fire bursting from his wrist and engulfing the thing. A gasping, choked noise leaves me, half relief, half fear. My whole body’s shaking like a leaf caught in a storm as the thing crumples, burning, and just stops moving. I don’t know when I move, but, as Mando turns, I’m already flinging my arms around his neck and clinging to him as tears spurt down my cheeks, breath coming in gasping heaves.

There’s a moment, a moment where he takes a startled step back, a moment where his arms are still prepared for battle, and then he coils his arms around me. One arm slips around my waist, dragging me tightly against his beskar clad chest, and the other hand curls around the back of my skull to hold me close.

“You threw a shoe at a dragon,” he mutters, helmet pressed against the side of my skull. I shudder against him, fingers fisted into the fabric that covers his neck. “You threw a _shoe_ at a _dragon_ ,” he repeats with a heavy sigh, his gloved fingers tightening around me.

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of me, strained and tight, but I can’t bring any words out of my mouth. I can only cling to him with trembling hands, somehow never close enough, even as the hard planes of his armour dig into my flesh and the edge of his helmet knocks against the top of my head. He’s _safe_. He’s _alive_ beneath my hands, which long to delve beneath that armour and find warm skin, just to make sure he’s whole and safe and unharmed. That longing takes me by surprise, but I don’t have time to dwell on it as his hands suddenly grab my face and tilt my head back, the black visor on his helmet glowing in the firelight.

“Are you alright?” he demands, voice harsh again, demanding. I nod, head still grasped between his gloved hands, but he doesn’t relax. “Did it hit you?” he insists. I shake my head, surprised, but not unpleasantly so, when I feel his thumb rub across my cheekbone. “You’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine,” I manage to gasp out, voice shaking. “I’m fine. Are you okay? It threw you around like a metal ragdoll.”

“I’m okay,” he assures, voice still gravelly, hands sliding to my neck, thumbs fitting against my collarbones. “The kid’s in his pod – he’s fine too.”

“Oh, Maker, the baby,” I choke, horrified I’d managed to get distracted from him. Mando lets me go, but he follows me closely as we rush to the kid, whose pod opens up to let the kid wave his arms and coo at us. Mando snatches him up before I do, but I can’t bring myself to mind when the kid possessively wraps one hand around Mando’s finger and the other around my hair. “You okay?” I murmur and he coos at me, big eyes glowing in the firelight. “Good,” I breathe and drop my head against Mando’s shoulder, feeling a bit shaky still, legs weak at the knees. “Good.”

“Karga – he’s hurt badly,” Kuiil suddenly says, breaking through the bubble we’d put ourselves into.

Honestly, I don’t even _care_ about Karga, but Mando’s apparently a much nicer person than I am and presses the kid into my arms. He heads over to Karga, who’s propped against _my_ stone, but the irritable thoughts fade, mingled with guilt, when I see the terrible wound to his arm. The limb is already visibly swollen, blood oozing from the gash down it. He doesn’t look good. They’re talking about the poison spreading through his system, unable to stop it. I swallow thickly. I don’t like the man, but he doesn’t have to die – _shouldn’t_ have to die. He’s going to, even though he keeps saying that he’s fine. He’s obviously not fine.

“We need another medpack,” Cara announces, voice urgent. I don’t know where they put the medpacks. Fuck. I’m so useless. “Got any other medpacks? Anyone?”

Silence, except for the crackling of the fire and Karga’s wheezes of pain.

“I’m guessing that’s a no,” Karga hisses out through his teeth. I find myself moving closer to him, the kid still held in my arms.

A scowl settles on Cara’s face as she scans the arm again and, from the tightness to her face, the prognosis isn’t good. “It’s still spreading,” she mutters, frustrated and irritated. “This isn’t working.”

Suddenly, the kid wiggles in my arms, straining to get to the ground. I hesitate, but the wiggles get stronger and he whines demandingly until I give in and place him on the ground. He coos in what seems like gratitude, patting my leg, and waddles the rest of the way to Cara and Karga. I follow him, frowning worriedly, and exchange a glance with Mando, but he doesn’t make an indication for me to stop the kid. Cara glares at me, obviously irritated at the kid’s presence, though she says nothing when neither Mando nor I attempt to stop him. Clearly the kid has something in mind as he reaches Karga and places both of his tiny hands on the man’s damaged arm. I do reach for him then, fear of the poison launching my heart into my throat.

My hands freeze, hovering over the kid, however, when the gaping, swollen wound suddenly begins to close beneath the kid’s three-clawed hands. I’ve – I’ve never heard of something like this. I’ve never seen anything like this. He’s _healing_ Karga. The wound closes, and the swelling goes down. As it does, the kid takes a staggered step backwards and begins to topple, but I somehow react in time to catch him and gather him against my chest. He coos tiredly, head falling against my chest, eyes drooping closed, as my arms cradle him protectively, all while my head spins and struggles to make sense of what in the name of the Maker just happened.

How could – how could something so _tiny_ do something so _incredible_?

A gloved hand settles on the kid’s chest, no doubt feeling for the way it rises and falls steadily. The silver beskar glows in the firelight as the Mandalorian stops beside me, his other hand settling in the middle of my back. I relax a little when I have both of them close. This is life now, the Mandalorian and the kid, and I only relax when they’re both nearby. I try not to dwell on why too much. I simply adjust my hold on the kid and promptly freeze at the sight of blood smeared over his tan robe.

“Where’s that coming from?” Mando demands, grabbing the baby, like I can’t check him for wounds myself.

The blood smears further over the robe, but, as Mando searches him for injuries, there’s _nothing_. Did some get on him from Karga? I reach for him, to try and find the source of the blood, but Mando abruptly grabs my wrist and forces my hand up, palm facing him. I jerk back, startled at the sudden move.

There’s blood sliding down my wrist, smeared across my hand, and, as I notice that blood, the pain sets in. My palm stings something terrible, really badly actually, burning really, and Mando doesn’t help when he presses his thumb against whatever cut I have there that’s pouring blood.

“You said you were fine,” he says it accusingly, like I lied to him. I didn’t even _know_ I was injured. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully, voice shaking a little, and I hiss when his thumb presses harder against the cut and he tugs me closer. “That _hurts_ ,” I protest, frowning at him. “Stop _poking_ it,” I command and earn myself one of his sighs.

“It’s full of dirt, but it doesn’t look like it came from the dragon,” he informs me. I cringe at that, trying to pull my hand back so I can inspect it, but he keeps a tight grip and refuses to let go. “We need to clean it out and wrap the wound,” he states and adjusts his thumb against my palm. I hiss slightly. “It’s seems pretty deep, like something got stuck in there and then pulled across your palm.”

“Is it going to scar?” I blurt out, probably far more concerned about that than I should. Who looks at someone’s hands? What does it even matter? But, perhaps stupidly, I care about scars marring my skin. I’m shallow. I’m not necessarily proud of it, but I am, and it’s what I’ve been my whole life. I’ve been taught that my appearance means more than anything else.

“There’s nothing wrong with scars,” Mando sighs. I feel my cheeks heat in embarrassment at his obvious impatience at my foolishness. “Do you really think anyone will notice a scar on your hand?” he mutters and shakes his head slightly at me. My blush darkens. “Kuiil, put the kid down in his pod,” he commands and, almost immediately, the Ugnaught appears and carefully takes the kid’s sleeping frame.

That done, without another word, Mando pulls me over to the stone that Karga’s still reclining against and sits me down, my arm held over my head to reduce the blood flow to my hand. Karga, for a man that almost died, looks far too amused at the situation, while I watch Mando disappear to look for some medical supplies with a slight pout on my face. It’s frustrating. He’s treating me like a foolish child. I mean, I know that I’ve not exactly experienced a lot of the galaxy and, yes, I’ve been more injured since I joined Mando and the kid, but I’m still a grown woman, not some child to be coddled and fretted over, especially when Karga, who almost died, was not treated as such.

“You look mighty relieved –”

“Karga, he won’t be the one that blasts your brains over this ashy wasteland if you finish that,” I interrupt harshly, glaring at him from the corner of my eye. He doesn’t speak, but he does chuckle. “Shut up,” I command, just as Mando reappears and crouches in front of me. “Is it really that bad?”

“It’s still bleeding,” he answers shortly, taking my hand and cradling it in the palm of one of his larger ones. “Like I said, looks deep, but we just need to clean and wrap it, since there’s no more bacta-spray.”

“Bacta stings,” I mutter and hiss when Mando pours something all over the wound. “That _hurts_.”

“Stay still and it won’t hurt as much,” he sighs impatiently. I squirm again, but obediently still as much as I can with a mulish expression forming on my face. “Stay _still_ ,” he insists when my hand twitches beneath his cleaning.

Whatever Mando uses, it _stings_ and I can _feel_ it seeping into my hand, through the cut, which does feel deep with that stinging fluid sinking into my flesh. It takes a lot of deep breathing and self-control to keep my hand still, though my fingers twitch against his involuntarily. Once he deems it clean enough, he begins wrapping it some fresh, white fabric that glows in the firelight. Where did he even get that? Do I want to know?

I decide I don’t, not when I kind of like the way his fingers gentle against my skin as he wraps my hand. It reminds me of when the ship’s steering had that mishap and he patched me up after I fell. The memory makes me warm, a warmth that curls from my core and spreads through my whole body, right to the tips of my fingers and ends of my toes.

This time, he doesn’t press his helmeted forehead to mine. For some reason, that fact chases the warmth away.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the disclaimer from the previous two chapters regarding recognised dialogue.
> 
> And, as ever, please comment to let me know what you're thinking of the story. I'd really appreciate the feedback!
> 
> Thank you.

When I wake, it’s to cold metal beneath my cheek and a dull throbbing in my right hand, which is wrapped into some kind of soft fabric. Light hits my retinas and I groan in protest, twisting my face into whatever’s beneath me and wiggling even closer to the warmth beside me. Something brushes over my hair. It feels nice. It draws a happy sigh from my mouth. Whatever it is brushes over my hair again and the metal I’m laid across (why am I laid on metal? I don’t even mind, which is even stranger) rises and falls gently, as though what I’m laid on is breathing. My hand – my throbbing hand – is wrapped into fabric, though, not metal, which is strange.

Curious and still very sleepy, my eyes flutter open to smooth, silver metal pressed against my cheek. My head tilts back, something catching gently in my hair, and my eyes land on the shiny helmet with the t-shaped visor that belongs to Mando. Am – am I cuddled up to Mando? The thing moves through my hair again. Sleepily, I realise that it’s his hand against my hair, fingers tangled into the locks at the back of my skull.

Maybe I should move, but I feel...I feel incredibly relaxed, especially considering I’m currently sleeping on a thin blanket over hard, ashy ground. My head is pillowed by beskar, the armour digging into my body where I’m sprawled across him, but I don’t want to move. As I grow more aware of my surroundings, I recognise that there’s an arm around my waist. I like it, so I tuck my head back down and close my eyes again with a soft sigh.

“Come on, wake up,” Mando’s voice rumbles, the hand at my waist giving me a small shake. I moan in protest, far too comfortable, and curl in closer to him stubbornly. His chest heaves beneath me as he gives one his sighs. I don’t even care. I’m determined to sleep as long as possible. “We’ll have to move soon,” he insists and gives me another shake, perhaps a little rougher than before.

“I’m tired,” I insist, almost whining, but I do not whine. Yasinda Solvan does not whine. It’s not dignified to whine, no matter how sleepy one might be.

“Yas,” he persists and, this time, he pushes my hair from my face. _That_ wakes me up, awareness zinging through me as his fingers, still gloved, brush across my cheekbone. “We need to check on the kid.”

Any trace of sleep vanishes at that, the memory of the kid slumping into my arms hitting me hard. My hands slam hard into Mando’s chest as I shove myself up and my head turns in search of the floating pod. It’s just behind us, already open, and the kid coos at us when he sees that we’re awake. Oh, thank the Maker. He gurgles out a giggle as my hands snatch him up and hug him against me, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. His hands wrap into my hair, which is partially loose after sleeping. A content, relieved smile curls at my mouth, especially as the kid hugs me right back.

It feels nice, this contact. Even with Mother, I rarely had it as a child. It wasn’t deemed safe except behind closed doors, so hugs and kisses weren’t something that were given freely. They were something precious and scarce, to be given for a reason. With the kid, with this little green creature, the hugs and the kisses are given without reason, except for the fact that I adore him, truly adore him, and feel like I would burn the galaxy down for him. Maybe having that rare contact growing up is why I relish every single touch from Mando, because his touches are scarce, precious, given for a reason. Even with his gloved hands, his touch has awareness bolting through me, like small zaps of lightning sparking wherever his fingers make contact. I feel it now, as his fingers slide over my wrist and he reaches over to rub a hand over the kid’s head.

“Have you heard of the Force being used that way?” Mando asks quietly, far closer than I imagined. I realise that we’re still, more or less, in the same position we woke up in, just sat now, rather than laid down. My thigh is still pressed against his. It’s distracting.

“Sorry?” I question intelligently, looking over at his helmet with a frown of confusion. It takes a moment for his words to register. “Oh! Healing Karga,” I realise too late, embarrassingly late, and hate the heat that fills my cheeks. “No,” I admit, looking down at the kid and rubbing a thumb wonderingly over his tiny hand. “I’m not an expert, though, just heard things in passing, usually when my father was drunk with his friends,” I mutter bitterly, frowning at the memories and hugging the kid closer. “I think – I think he must be powerful, to do something like that, but that’s all I know.”

“We’ll find answers,” Mando promises, voice low, hand still on the kid’s tiny skull. “We’ll work out where he came from.”

“Yeah,” I agree quietly and stroke my fingers over the kid’s fingers again, “we will.”

The kid coos, happy and contented, utterly unaware of the concern we have for him, and looks up at me, ears twitching. I know that look – he wants his breakfast. As he blinks at me, adorable and sweet, I know he wants me to fetch him food, sooner rather than later, else I’ll have to listen to the wail. I learned that early on in my travels with him and Mando. So, reluctantly, I pull away from the Mandalorian beside me, missing his touch immediately, which I decide not to dwell on, and make my way over to the packs where the food should be stashed. My toes curl, disgusted, into the ashy ground beneath me. I find some dried meat, which the kid latches onto eagerly and stuffs into his tiny mouth.

“You ready for today, baby?” I murmur. “It’s going to be a big day, maybe a little scary, but we’re going to keep you safe,” I promise and earn myself a curious coo from the kid. I smile at him and kiss his tiny forehead, right between those big eyes of his. “That’s what we’re all here for, to keep you safe, to make sure no one touches you,” I whisper, offering him some more meat and chuckling when he basically inhales it.

I sit on the big stone, ignoring the dried blood on it, and settle the kid between my feet with some more meat, as my fingers reach up and unravel my sleep messed hair. Half of it hangs loose now anyway, so it needs to be tidied and then restyled into something passable. Difficult to do without a hairbrush, or hair products, but at least I have a little compact mirror that I persuade the kid to hold for me while I comb my hair through with my fingers and start the process of putting it into two plaits. The kid’s kind of useless, waving the mirror around when he gets bored, but he’s cute enough that it draws a laugh from me. He gurgles when the mirror catches the sunlight and reflects it back onto the ground. He waddles after it, cooing when the light moves with him.

“Baby, bring it back,” I laugh softly and hold my hand out expectantly, only one plait done, the rest of my hair still loose and long down my back. He coos and grips the compact mirror a little tighter, waving it at me. “Come on, I’ll swap you for it,” I tempt and his head tilts to the side, assessing the potential for a trade when I literally have nothing else to hand. I delve into my few hair supplies (even Mando isn’t stubborn enough to make me travel across an ashy wasteland without _some_ of my hair supplies) and withdraw a hair slide shaped like a leaf. No sharp edges, perfectly safe for the little one. “It’s sparkly,” I smile and wiggle it at him. He looks between the mirror and the hair slide, obviously debating on what’s best. “It also matches your skin tone – you’ll learn how important that is when you’re a bit older.”

Evidently, the kid decides the mirror is the far better prize, because he waddles off with it.

“Kid, I’m not wearing shoes,” I protest, watching him waddle away far quicker than his tiny legs suggest he should be able to. He giggles brightly and continues waddling towards Mando, who’s talking to Karga, Cara, Kuiil, and the other two. “Kid,” I call, laughing slightly, but he giggles again and bumps into Mando’s leg, grabbing the boot with his free hand.

Mando easily scoops the kid up in one arm, while I continue plaiting the rest of my hair with a faint, amused smile as the kid waves the compact mirror in Mando’s face triumphantly. He’s very proud of his theft. He’ll be very upset when it’s back in my possession within about ten minutes. I tie off the end of my hair and stand, stretching my arms over my head as I do. My spine pops pleasantly, the stiffness from sleeping on the ground becoming obvious the more I move around. Ugh. Never sleeping on an ashy wasteland ever again.

“Did anyone save my shoe?” I ask absently and find one shoe close to where I was sleeping.

“You mean the one you threw at a dragon?” Cara smirks at me and sniggers when I glare at her flatly. “No, Yas, we did not manage to save your shoe from a dragon.”

My bottom lip juts out in a pout before I can stop it, toes curling against the ash beneath them, the ash sticking to my skin. It’s horrible. I hate it. I have no shoes. I _liked_ those shoes and now one has been melted by a dragon – a _dragon_. So unfair. Maybe I can persuade Mando to let me go back to the ship and get another pair of shoes. It can’t be healthy to wander the ashy wasteland without shoes on. I might cut myself, or catch something, or something. I don’t know. I don’t wander around barefoot! I always have shoes on, ones that perfectly match my outfit. The shoes that have been destroyed irreparably were extremely versatile, pairing with just about everything and extremely comfortable, even with the slight heel. They’ll be missed.

“We need to –”

“No,” Mando interrupts. I glare at him sulkily. “There should be spare shoes in the bag.”

I stare at him, stunned, and then feel myself smile. “You packed me another pair of shoes?” I ask him. He doesn’t deign to respond. “You really do know me,” I chirp happily and delve into the packs, dragging out a pair of the most hideous shoes I own. “I change that statement – you chose _these_?”

“I can burn those too,” he answers flatly.

“You’re mean,” I mutter, hastily yanking the flat, ankle length boots onto my feet. The bulky footwear feels very strange on my feet. I only bought them because I thought they were practical, but they’re so _ugly_. “They don’t even –”

“No,” Mando interjects again. I open my mouth to continue, but yelp when he points at me. “No,” he repeats sternly and nods when I let my mouth snap shut, though I’m not happy about it. “It’s time to go,” he informs me and marches off before I can respond.

Reluctantly, I follow, only pausing to get the kid settled in his pod with another chewstick to keep him quiet. I also let him keep my compact mirror, since he seems oddly attached to it. The kid waves at me, which makes me smile, but he doesn’t seem to concerned that both Mando and I are closing him into his pod. I much prefer him being in the pod, however, as the two bounty hunters, whose name are really not important to me, fall into step behind us.

Unable to stop myself, I quicken my step to walk beside Mando, because Mando won’t let anything happen to me. That’s something I believe whole-heartedly. I trust him more than I’ve trusted anyone and that fact is mildly terrifying, but it’s a fact that remains. I mean, Cara’s great and all, but I barely know her, therefore the trust isn’t there. I would never tell Cara all the things I’ve told Mando.

On the remaining blurrg (which is sad, because I know Kuiil loves them, but, at the same time, I really didn’t like them, so I don’t feel too sad about it), Kuiil plods along to the side, wedged with us between Karga and his two friends. It makes me increasingly uncomfortable, fingers desperate to curl around the blaster I’ve holstered at my thigh. It still feels heavy and unnatural strapped there, but Mando insisted I keep a weapon close at hand and then gave me the holster, so I know I’d better keep it in place or he’ll lecture me. He still hasn’t given me any proper lessons, though. Maybe after this is all over with. Hopefully it won’t be too late.

“You think they’re having second thoughts?” Cara whispers, interrupting my suddenly morbid thoughts, as the town appears in the distance. Thank the Maker. My feet hurt.

The thought isn’t comforting, especially not when Mando pipes up, “could be.” I look at him sharply, itching to turn and look at the threat walking behind us, but I don’t. “I need your eyes,” he tells Cara and he looks at me. “I need you to stay close,” he murmurs, quiet, so quiet I almost miss it, but I don’t. Somehow, I always hear him, his voice always modulated through the helmet. I bet his voice is calm, though, calm and steady and warm.

“I can do that,” I agree, taking half a step closer. “I don’t trust them,” I murmur, still desperate to keep the enemy in my sights, but I can’t and it’s the most unsettling feeling.

“Good,” Mando nods. “Neither do I.”

I’m glad it’s not just me that doesn’t trust them, glad that he must be feeling that churning sense of unease at having those people walking behind us. My stomach tightens with unease, but I keep my pace even and my gaze ahead of me, even when the back of my hand brushes over the back of Mando’s gloved one. The cold metal of his vambrace slides over my wrist, comforting, reassuring, because he’s close and he’s strong. Also, he’s really good with a blaster, so I’m fairly certain we’re going to be just fine. Maybe we could turn on them before they turn on us. Cara and Mando could definitely manage to take control of the situation, while I took the kid and hid with Kuiil behind the blurrg.

Karga comes to a stop at the edge of a ridge of ashy earth, looking down on the frankly depressing town now perhaps an hour’s walk away. He stands, hands on hips, his back to us, and I hate every single second as it drags on by. A knot forms in my gut, wrapped tight around the heavy stone that sits there. Sweat beads across the back of my neck and sits, disgustingly, in the base of my spine. My mouth feels dry and my tongue sits heavy in my mouth. Somehow, with a great feat of strength, I manage not to grab Mando’s hand and drag him back to the ship, demanding that we leave this ashy wasteland of a planet.

“I guess this is it,” Karga says, voice heavy, and he still doesn’t turn to face us.

An arm abruptly snaps around my waist, a familiar arm with a familiar beskar vambrace. Mando yanks me into his side, the other hand grasping his blaster, as Karga spins around with two blasters drawn. Instinctively, I shrink against the Mandalorian, one arm coiling around his middle, head tucking down against his chest, but... _nothing happens_.

My heart pounds against my ribs and I realise my eyes are squeezed tightly shut, so I slowly pry them open and find Karga with his hands up and his blasters holstered. Mando and Cara do not have their blasters holstered. I look over Mando’s shoulder and stare, startled, at the dead bodies laid in the ash. Did _Karga_ kill his own men?

“There’s something you should know,” Karga says, voice forcibly calm. I can hear it. “The plan was to kill you and take the kid and the girl, but, after last night, I couldn’t go through with it,” he states and my heart launches up into my throat at that.

The _girl_? Does he mean _me_? Somehow, I don’t think he means Cara. Neither does Mando if the way his arm tightens around my waist is anything to go by.

“Go on, you can gun me down here and now, and it wouldn’t violate the code, but, if you do, the child will never be safe, and nor will she,” Karga announces and he definitely points at me. There is no denying that.

“What do you know?” I demand, stepping forward, voice as sharp as ice, slipping free from Mando’s tight grip and hating it. I feel exposed now, vulnerable.

“All I know is that there’s a bounty on a missing girl that looks like you, don’t even have a name, but they’re paying as much for you as they are for the kid,” Karga answers solemnly. I glare at him suspiciously. “That’s all I know,” he insists at my suspicious glower.

“You know what? We’ll take our chances,” Cara snarls and her heavy hand lands on my shoulder.

“The Imperial client is obsessed with this child,” Karga continues and his eyes flicker back to me. “You too, girlie, talks about finding you a lot too.”

That means it’s personal.

 _Shit_.

“What does he look like?” I demand and shrug off Cara’s hand when it squeezes slightly. Mando can warn me. Cara can fuck off. “This Imperial client – what does he look like?”

“Older, grey hair, thin, pale skin, blue eyes,” Karga lists off. I raise an eyebrow at him. That describes half the men on Coruscant. “Tall, I guess, wears a lot of red and black, has this gold medal.”

Gold medal?

Shit.

Shit.

 _Shit_.

My throat feels tight, mouth dry, but I swallow thickly and manage not to let my hands shake. “The medal, does it have the Imperial symbol on it? On a black and gold ribbon?” I ask sharply and hate – _hate_ – the way Karga frowns and looks disturbed as he gives a small nod. “ _Fuck_.” It wheezes out between my teeth. “We need to leave.”

“What? Yas,” Mando protests, reaching for me, but I wrench out of his reach and shake my head.

It – it feels like I’ve been plunged into icy water and I can’t breathe. “We need to leave,” I repeat. I should sound sharp, confident, but my voice shakes.

“We need to do this, for the kid,” Mando argues. I shake my head, hands trembling, sickness sweeping through my stomach. “Who is this guy?” Mando demands and grabs my arm before I can begin the march back to the ship. I’ll sprint there if I have to. “Yas,” he barks, giving me a small shake, both hands curled around my biceps to hold me in place, to stop my escape. “Who is he?”

My mouth opens, but the words don’t come out. There are no lies that can make any of this turn into my favour, to get my own way. I need off of this planet. I need to get the fuck out of this place. There’s vomit burning in my throat and my whole body is trembling, like a leaf caught in a storm. My breath comes in short, sharp bursts. Moisture burns at my eyes. What is _happening_ to me? The thought of him – of _him_ – finding me here, taking me back, forcing me to do what he wants, leaves me a mess.

“Jacoamar Caywar,” I whisper hoarsely. Vaguely, I hear Cara let out a hissed curse, but Mando just stares at me through the visor on his helmet, silently demanding more information. “I humiliated him – men like him don’t like being humiliated.”

“You’re afraid of him,” Mando recognises, says it so easily, doesn’t even care that I flinch violently at the accusation.

“We need to leave,” I plead, begging him to understand. “Please, Mando, _please_ , we have to go, just get off of Nevarro and we’ll go somewhere and just disappear, somewhere he can’t find us, _please_.”

“As long as he’s alive, he’ll send troops after the Child, after you,” Mando tells me. I shake my head, a small whimper escaping before I can control it. “Who is he? Your father?”

A choked, tight, hysterical noise leaves me as I shake my head. “Worse,” I laugh shakily. “My father wanted me to marry him.”

You could cut the tense silence with a knife as it settles over us. Mando’s fingers tighten on my arms, threatening to bruise. Cara’s spitting out curses somewhere behind us. Karga’s frighteningly silent. Kuiil, perhaps, is the only one here that might be able to understand the life I used to have, the expectations that would’ve been on me.

I still can’t breathe. The thought of _Jacoamar_ getting his hands on me again leaves my mind blank with panic. I can’t think of a plan. I can’t think of the right words to say to get us away from here. All I know is that he can’t know I’m here. He won’t give me back to Father, not right away. No, first, he’ll do whatever he wants to me, hurt me for humiliating him, rape me, hand me to whoever he wants to, and slaughter everyone I care about to make a point. Maybe he’ll make them watch what he does to me, so they can see exactly who I’m supposed to be, who I ran away from being.

“Does he know she’s here?” Mando suddenly barks at Karga. I barely hear him, don’t hear Karga’s answer, with the loud buzzing in my head. “Yas, look at me,” the Mandalorian commands, giving me a small shake until my eyes fly up to his helmet.

I can’t _breathe_. He grabs my hand and places it against his chest, just above the edge of his silver beskar. My fingertips rest against the base of his throat.

“You need to _breathe_ ,” he orders and his chest moves beneath my hand as he takes in a deep breath. Shakily, I follow the rhythm of his breath. We do the same thing a few more times until my breathing’s almost back to a normal pace. “He doesn’t know you’re here,” he tells me. “He doesn’t know you’re with me, with the kid, so you’re going back to the ship with Kuiil and the kid.”

Panic surges up my throat like vomit. My fingers curl desperately against the edge of his chest plate. “You have to come too,” I protest, terror sinking like sharp knives into my flesh. “We need to leave.”

“I need to kill him,” Mando answers simply, calmly, like it’s that _easy_. It’s not. He doesn’t understand. “If I don’t, the kid won’t ever be safe, and we’re doing this for him,” he reminds me, but it’s not sharp, not a reprimand. His hand finds my cheek, thumb rubbing away the tears clinging there. My eyes close at the touch. “You won’t be safe either, so this Jacoamar needs to die.”

It’s true. It is. I need to tell them what I know. It might help.

“He’s arrogant,” I tell Mando quietly, voice croaking and hoarse. It makes me grimace. “If you take the pod, keep the lid closed, he won’t even open it to check it, because he thinks no one could ever be as smart as him, especially not some bounty hunter.”

“Okay, what else?” Mando encourages, his hand dropping from my cheek to my shoulder as my eyes open and flicker up to his covered face. I wonder what colour his eyes are.

“Get him talking; he likes the sound of his own voice, likes bragging about his accomplishments, so get him talking and he’ll reveal the big plans for the kid, who else might be involved,” I pause at that, a frown creasing my face. The thing is, Jacoamar was never involved in experimentation on living things. He dealt with the technology, the creation of ships and weapons, so why is he here on some backwater ash planet going after a kid? “He’s been demoted,” I realise, the words leaving me before I can stop them. “He’s playing collector, because he’s been demoted.”

“Demoted?” Mando echoes.

“I left, _four days_ before we were supposed to be married, which would raise some questions, and Father’s powerful, very powerful, so, to save his own reputation, he would’ve thrown Jacoamar under the podracer,” I answer, speaking quickly, mind racing now, picking out the pieces of the story and putting them together. “Why else would the wealthy, only daughter of a powerful man run away four days before her wedding? Obviously, the man she was meant to marry must’ve hurt her, done something to her, and that’s the story Father would’ve told, over and over again until Jacoamar was completely ruined.

“ _That’s_ why he’s here, on Nevarro, doing some shitty job that normally some idiot desperate to prove himself would do. He’s trying to buy his way back into the inner circle, regain his power by offering them something they want, and getting me back? That’s just a power move, and a desperate one, since he hasn’t even released my name, likely because Father wouldn’t let him. If anyone found out that I was wandering the galaxy alone without protection, I’d probably already be dead, or worse, and, let’s face it, Father’s going to want punish me himself if he ever gets his hands on me, so Jacoamar has to be careful about looking for me. Plus, if he knew where I was, I’d already be surrounded by troopers by now.”

Mando’s silent. In fact, all of them are silent. It’s a little unnerving.

“Who exactly are you?” Mando asks, voice quiet. I hesitate, teeth finding the inside of my upper lip. “I need to know, Yasinda,” he insists and my stomach swoops at the sound of my name, my _real_ name, coming from him.

I swallow thickly and try to pretend that Cara, Karga, and Kuiil aren’t all listening intently. “My name is Yasinda Solvan, and I am the daughter of Andosca Solvan,” I confess and, somehow, my voice stays steady and calm. Cara spits out a loud curse, while Karga begins pacing frantically. Mando, though, Mando doesn’t react other than with a heavy sigh. Typical. “Father wants me alive, so does Jacoamar, just for different reasons, and you can use that against him.”

“ _Solvan_?!” Cara shrieks. “You’re a _Solvan_?!”

“Not by choice,” I answer without taking my eyes from Mando’s helmet. I wish I could see his face, work out what he’s thinking. “You understand why I didn’t tell you, don’t you?” I whisper, eyes uselessly searching his shiny helmet for any indication of what he’s thinking.

He gives a small nod.

My entire body relaxes as a relieved sigh escapes me and, without thinking, I throw my arms around his neck and hug him tightly. I probably shouldn’t. I don’t really care. I cling to him selfishly, pressing my face into his shoulder, stood on tiptoes to hold him tight against me. He hesitates, but then one arm – just the one, but that’s enough – curls around my waist and gives me a gentle squeeze in return. He’s not mad at me. He doesn’t want to send me back with a bow tied around my neck, all the easier to throttle me with. He’ll still protect me, just like he promised to. The thought has me sinking into him, feeling my body mould to his beskar.

“You need to go back to the ship,” he murmurs and his hand curls around my waist, gently pushing me back a step, even though I try to keep my grip on him. He makes me feel safe. “We’ll take care of Caywar.”

“No,” I protest, frowning, shaking my head. My fingers slide uselessly over his beskar as he forces me back another step. “No, no, you don’t _know_ him.”

“We don’t need to know him to kill him,” Mando states simply, like it is simple, like Jacoamar Caywar can so easily be killed. So many people have tried and so many people have failed. He’s got too many connections, too much power, to just be _killed_. “We’ll do what you said; take the empty pod, and kill him.”

“It’s not that simple,” I argue, but Mando doesn’t seem to care to listen to me anymore. “Mando, you don’t know anything about Jacoamar, how he works, how he thinks, but I do, and I can help with that.”

“You’re not going anywhere near him,” Mando snaps the words out, sharply edged things that dig into my skin and threaten to make me bleed. I bite my upper lip, staring at his helmet, wishing I could see through that ridiculous thing and work out what he’s thinking. “It gives him too much power, right? If he thinks he has you _and_ the kid.”

“I... _suppose_ ,” I answer slowly, frowning. When did Mando become the expert in Imperial thought processes? “But he won’t have the kid.”

“If he’s not released your name, all it’s going to take is saying it,” Mando retorts impatiently, clearly tired of this line of conversation, but he doesn’t _understand_.

I mean, he has a point, but I don’t like that he has a point. He’s winning this argument, and I’m not sure why I care, because I _want_ to go back to the ship, _want_ to put as much distance as possible between Jacoamar and myself, _want_ to do what he says, but I also want Mando to come with me and the kid. I want us all to get that antiquated thing he calls a ship and disappear back into the depths of the galaxy. That’s what I want. It won’t happen if he goes into that town and confronts Jacoamar. I was taught to deal in certainties, never to leave any doubt when stepping into negotiation. There’s no certainty if Mando goes to see Jacoamar. I don’t like that.

“Yasinda,” Mando sighs. I don’t have any more words that might work. I never I didn’t, but I still tried. “I’ll see you soon,” he says simply, calmly, and grabs my waist to lift me onto the blurrg behind Kuiil before I can stop him. “Take care of them,” he tells Kuiil as Cara approaches with the kid and passes him to Kuiil. Her dark eyes narrow on me suspiciously. I pretend that it doesn’t sting.

Once the kid is bundled safely in Kuiil’s grip in a warm blanket and I’m sat safely behind the Ugnaught, the blurrg lurches into action, running across the ashy wasteland. I stare determinedly ahead and decide that the wetness on my cheeks is because of the wind stinging at my eyes, _not_ anything else. It is not because, for the first time since Mother died, I’m worried for someone other than myself and, possibly, not even just because I know that he’ll protect me. I’m scared _for_ him, of something happening to him, because I don’t want him to get hurt, and it’s terrifying. I shouldn’t attach myself so completely to someone else when it’ll only end up in hurt, which I’ve avoided for so long to protect myself.

This is – it’s all going to end terribly. I can feel it as my stomach knots up and leaves me nauseous.

* * *

A running blurrg is far more uncomfortable to ride than a walking blurrg. The fact that I’m incredibly tense probably doesn’t help. Kuiil, thankfully, says nothing, while the kid has managed to wiggle a hand free from his blanket and hold my finger where I’m gripping Kuiil’s jacket. It’s comforting, at least marginally, to have the kid clinging to me and, perhaps, I offer the same for him, though I can’t muster a smile for him. He’s tucked safely into the crook of one of Kuiil’s arms and that’s the most important thing – that he’s safe. It’s why Mando’s doing all of this. It’s for the kid, to keep him safe and sound and out of the grip of the Empire. I need that too. He’s the reason I hopped onto that ship in the first place, those big eyes and those big ears and those adorable little coos. Mando wiggled his way under my skin well after the kid did.

“ _Kuiil, are you back at the ship yet_?” Mando’s voice suddenly cuts over the wasteland. Kuiil doesn’t answer, not right away, the comm clutched in the hand gripping the reins of the blurrg. “ _Are you there? Do you copy? Yas?_ ”

The comm gets pressed into my hand, the Ugnaught squeezing my fingers as he does. “Yes, we copy,” I answer, proud that my voice is steady and not breathless, as I feared it would be. “We’re not at the ship yet.”

“ _Get back to the ship and bail_!” Mando barks. My blood runs cold, fingers giving a spasm around Kuiil’s jacket and around the comm in my hand. “ _Get out of here! We’re pinned down_!”

“We’re not leaving –!”

“ _Get out of here! Caywar is dead, but there’s someone else here! He killed Caywar and his men! You need to leave_!”

Someone from the _Empire_ killed Jacoamar? Whose toes did he step on?

“Mando –!”

“ _For once in your life, stop arguing and do as you’re told_!”

My mouth snaps shut at the anger and frustration that barks through the comm. Jacoamar’s dead, but it was done by the Empire. What the fuck is going on? There’s no reason for the Empire to have killed him, unless he stepped out of line, especially as he’s newly demoted. Shit. Did they say something when they were with him? Mention my name at the wrong moment to try and throw him off? If they mentioned me in front of the wrong person, that would’ve gotten back to Father and, possibly, he would’ve taken fatal action if he deemed Jacoamar’s search of me out of his boundaries. Who killed Jacoamar and why?

Beneath me, the blurrg is pushed harder, its feet crashing into the ground, but there’s something else. There’s a low noise getting closer and closer to us. The louder it gets, the harder my heart pounds against my ribcage. Someone’s following us. The hair on the back of my neck prickles and raises in awareness. I don’t want to look behind us. I don’t want to know who’s following us.

Who in the Imperial troops has the power? Did whoever’s pulling the strings decide that we’re no longer needed alive? Who _is_ pulling the strings? Who is in charge here? Even demoted, Jacoamar should’ve wielded enough power that he wouldn’t be killed at the drop of a hat. He should've still had enough power to have the plots against him whispered into his ear.

The noise, a low whistling noise, keeps getting louder. The kid’s fingers tighten around mine, his dark eyes finding my face over Kuiil’s sloped shoulder. I stroke my thumb over the back of his tiny hand in an attempt to offer comfort, but I don’t think it works. My hands are too clammy, fingers trembling, sweat sliding down my spine. At his gaze, though, the way he searches for reassurance, I find the courage to look behind us and wish I hadn’t when I catch sight of two, white clad figures zooming towards us on speeder bikes. I know those white clad figures – troopers.

No.

No.

 _No_.

“ _Are you back at the ship yet_?” Mando’s voice echoes from the comm still clutched in my hand. “ _They’re onto us_.”

I hesitate, eyes still fixed on the troopers getting closer and closer. Mando shouts through the comm again, but Kuiil doesn’t say anything and neither do I. They’re coming for the kid. Maybe they’re coming for me, but they’re definitely coming for the kid. I can’t – I can’t let them have him. He’s just a _kid_. I look at his little face and feel something inside my chest clench and tighten, my mouth trembling. My survival instinct screams at me to demand Kuiil urge the blurrg on faster, get us into the ship that looms ever closer, but the part of me that adores that little green gremlin begs me to do something, to cause a distraction and give Kuiil enough time to get onto the ship and off of this planet.

“ _Kuiil! Yas!_ **_Yasinda!_** ”

I shove the comm into the kid’s tiny hand. “I love you, kiddo,” I hear myself say to him and hear him coo in response, fingers tightening around mine.

Then, I fling myself off of the blurrg. My elbow rips open again as I smack into the ground. My body rolls a few times and I feel winded and dazed, but, after a few moments, I manage to pull myself to my feet. The blurrg keeps running towards the ship. The kid is still held by Kuiil, safe, as I stand and face the stormtroopers. They’re close now, slowing to face me, as I draw the blaster from my thigh and stand, feet shoulder width apart, ready to face them.

Sweat sticks my shirt to my skin, hands shaking, bile burning at my throat and stomach, but I do it, for the kid, for Mando. Maker, why do people do this? It feels awful, absolutely terrifying, but the thought of anything happening to the kid is worse and I can’t let myself imagine what might be happening to Mando – _Din_ – right now.

The troopers get closer. I raise my blaster with trembling fingers and swallow the bile on my tongue. They’re slowing down as they approach me. They’re big, shiny, white targets gleaming in the dim sunlight on this crappy, ashy, terrible planet. They are not going after my kid. They do not get to take him. I won’t let them. They took Din, have him pinned down in that awful town, but the kid is still free, still has a chance, and they’re all I have that matters. So, I stand there, chin raised, blaster gripped tightly in my hand, and watch them as they stop their speeder bikes either side of me, but they’re not looking at me.

“ ** _NO!_** ”

A red beam of plasma shoots from one of the blasters before I can fire my own blaster. It hits Kuiil in the back. The Ugnaught spins off of the blurrg and smacks into the ground. The kid rolls out of his grip, still wrapped tightly in his blanket. I start to sprint towards him, but a hand wraps into my hair and wrenches me backwards. A scream tears out of my throat at the pain in my scalp, at the way I crash back down into the ground. My blaster skips across the ashy land, just out of my reach as I try to lunge for it, but the trooper uses my plait to yank me back into place, as though it’s a chain, a restraint.

“Get your hands off of him!” I shriek furiously as the other trooper approaches the wailing kid. “Stay away from him!”

“Shut your mouth!” the trooper holding my hair bellows and wrenches again.

I spin to face him, drawing on all the dignity I possess as I’m currently sprawled in the dirt. “I am Yasinda Solvan!” I bark and feel his hand slacken in shock. “You will release us _immediately_!”

“ _Solvan_?” repeats the other, hands gripping the wailing kid. “You’re a _Solvan_?”

How strange that he repeats Cara's exact words from earlier.

Without the hand in my hair, I’m able to stand, blood sliding down my arm, down my leg, and glare at them. “I am Yasinda Solvan,” I repeat, voice dripping with ice, sharp edged, warning. “And you’re going to let us go, otherwise you will face my father’s wrath.”

“Pretty sure your daddy doesn’t know where you are, _if_ you're even telling the truth,” the trooper with the kid snorts, approaching with his other hand on his blaster. I glare at him, heart pounding, fear seeping like poison through my blood. “Pretty sure we’ll get hell of a reward for taking you back in,” he continues and nods to his companion.

I start to turn, but something smacks into my back and I topple forward, blackness taking over my vision.

* * *


End file.
